Of Beast And Blade
by Scribbler
Summary: [AU] In a distant realm where sword and sorcery rule, unlikely heroes have been chosen to save their world. [Ch20: Ororo finally shows her true colours. Meanwhile, Tabby's dramatic appearance in the fight against Sabertooth may be a double edged sword]
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: X-Men:Evo belongs to Warner Bros. And Marvel Comics. I have never, and shall never own them, no matter how much I may want to. I've simply warped them to fit my own twisted mind. However, this fic and any original work herein is officially mine, and anyone trying to steal it will find out how painful a weapon a computer mouse can when used by someone with imagination.  
  
WARNINGS: This is an AU (Alternative Universe) fic. Everything has been transplanted into a fantasy universe of my creation. Inspirations, despite what you might initially think, aren't actually from a certain Peter-Jackson-esque film, since I started work on this before I ever *saw* that movie. Influences rather include Internutter's spiffy fic 'Mein Teuful' (if you haven't yet read this then go do it *now*!) and various other sources I'll explain later.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: After many months in the offing, computer breakdowns, ff.net failures and writers block, 'OBAB' (or, the fic that's talked about, but never seen) is finally here. Most notably of Internutter's Nutboard fame, it has spiralled out of control from the tiny boredom-prompted work it originally was. I have to admit, it's a bit epic, but I hope people enjoy reading it as much as I've done (and still do, actually) writing it. Please be gentle, but *do* let me know what you think however you can, Even a sentence would be appreciated, since I'm a feedback junkie. ^_^  
  
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'Of Beast And Blade' By Scribbler  
Prologue  
  
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'The beginnings and endings of all human undertakings are untidy.' ~ Anonymous  
  
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The tower rose out of the darkness like some giant stone monolith, tall and imposing against the night sky. A cold wind howled around it, snarling and battering at the erratically placed shutters like an intangible wild beast. But the ancient edifice bore the attack with silent strength. It had weathered many terrible storms before. This one would be no different.  
  
Inside, incongruous to the gale beating against the outer brickwork, a fire burned merrily in the grate, illuminating the rounded room with a warm, comforting glow. Flickering shadows were cast upon the curved walls, giving them a stretched, somewhat distorted quality. Jars and various other paraphernalia became leering phantoms; deceptive silhouettes as they contorted themselves in the wavering light.   
  
It wasn't an especially large room, but was made smaller by the many things crammed into it. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, threads of spun gold twinkling as they caught the light. Likewise, assorted brightly coloured mats and rugs were spread across the scrubby wooden floorboards, and on them dwelt numerous items of furniture - none of which matched, and all of which were occupied by reams of parchment, beribboned scrolls and several quills that needed sharpening. It seemed that someone had attempted remodelling the place in different decors at various stages, but never gotten around to finishing any of them, and so everything was a mish-mash of colour, shape and design. Eastern dragons roared alongside stiff necked Egyptian art, accompanied rather discordantly by swirling gothic patterns, incongruous in their dark hue to the splashes of yellow and red here and there from thick, dusty books, laid flat in a variety of bizarre places with their spines breaking on pages the reader had left off and somehow never gotten back to. And, riding high above them all swung an aged, unlit chandelier of wrought black metal that looked like it hadn't seen new candles in many decades.  
  
A door on the far side of the chamber, across from the shuttered window where the wind screamed to be let in, suddenly creaked open a few inches. A skinny streak of light snuck through, and half a face pressed itself to the crack.  
  
Abruptly, from the folds of unmatching fabrics on one of the deep chairs came movement, closely followed by a thin, brittle voice.  
  
"Come in, child. I've been expecting you."  
  
The face at the door blinked, curious as to how it had been noticed when the person in the chair was facing the opposite direction into the blazing fire.  
  
Cautiously the door was pushed open. It was an old thing, made up of thick oaken panels, each shot through with iron bolts, and creaked loudly. The owner of the face darted inside and shut it quickly, not wanting to spoil the warm atmosphere with harsh outside influences. This cluttered chamber was like a separate little world. Untouched by the rest of the sprawling complex and the people in it. He pattered over to the speaker, pausing behind the chair and scuffing his feet self-consciously. It didn't seem right to just barge in like this, and he was struck by sudden embarrassment at his unannounced arrival.  
  
He need not have worried.  
  
"Come into the light." The thin, reedy voice came again. "Where I can see you." There was a commanding tone to that voice, no matter how weak and frail it sounded, and it was clear that it was not to be contravened. Without a doubt, this was someone used to being obeyed.  
  
Scuttling forward, the intruder found himself bathed in the firelight's glow. It was a wonderful feeling - much warmer than any fire of that size he'd ever felt before. Much warmer, in fact, than a fire this size had right to be. But then, things in this chamber were not always what they seemed, as he'd learned many times in the past. There were often stories of strange goings on in this secluded part of his home. Tall tales cooked up by idle minds, designed to scare young ones for a laugh. The latest rumour told of how naughty children were brought up and pickled in jars as an example to the rest, and put on show every few years or so. But he knew these to be nonsense. Then only things pickled up here were frogs and toads from the pond, and they most certainly never left the room because their glass cases were so delicate with age, as were so many archaic objects - although you wouldn't know it from how they were scattered so haphazardly around the floor and tables. There was no order anywhere, but instead of clashing, the chaos was strangely homey. Comfortable, even.  
  
A cough sounded behind him, and he turned from the fire to face both the chair and its occupant.  
  
An old woman sat therein. She was as much a relic as the chattels around her. Her skin was wrinkled and prune-like, and seem shrunk to fit her knobbly bones. Many shrouds enfolded her tiny, wizened body, already cosseted by old robes of an unidentifiable dye in the poor light. About her bony and careworn face hung thick curtains of long, greying hair, shot through with shards of white and pushed back to rest behind one ear. Around her hung an air of great age and wisdom, like a veil of importance she wore along with all her years. She looked as she was - ancient.  
  
Yet from the sunken sockets gleamed a pair of eyes so brilliant and sharp one almost wondered what they were doing in so aged and wan a face. They were sprightly and bright, and would've seemed more at home nestled in smooth, unsullied skin, couched in youth and new-beginnings. They glittered now at the small boy stood before them, regarding him with a commanding gaze that spoke of authority and great power. This, they seemed to say, is a very important person you're speaking to, so show some respect you young whipper-snapper!   
  
The youngster gulped and stared pointedly at his feet. But the old woman smiled and reached out with one emaciated hand to tilt his chin up again. He stared at her, unable to look away, and saw a playfulness also present in her eyes, pushing past her age to dance like a little girl's light-heartedness at him. Somehow he was reminded of soft Summer breezes, good friends and childish games in the paddock all at once, and a cosiness spread from the tips of his fingers to the ends of his toes. It warmed him even more than the spelled fire, and he found himself smiling back.  
  
"Bren, isn't it?" She said questioningly, and released him from her grasp. "And what brings you to my chambers on such a horrible night? Shouldn't you be asleep in your dormitory by now?"  
  
The small boy shook his head, and replied shyly.   
  
" 'Tisn't time for bed yet."  
  
"Really?" She raised an eyebrow. "I would've thought this storm would drive any youngster under the covers anyway. I've never seen lightning like it, nor heard thunder so loud. Aren't you scared?"  
  
As if to emphasize her words another clap rumbled across the sky above them, and a streak of lightning illuminated around the shutters where the rain beat to seek entrance through the cracks. The boy shivered, but steeled himself and stood up straighter.  
  
"I ain't no fraidy-cat! Only girls is fraidy-cats, an' I *definitely* ain't no *girl*!" He sounded quite incensed at the idea, and the woman's brown eyes sparkled with amusement. He couldn't be more than six years old, yet already he sounded like his father. And his grandfather too, for that matter. Yet his looks were that of his grandmother, undoubtedly. He had her heart-shaped face and pale complexion, as well as her hair-colouring. A chuckle rose in the back of her throat as memories came unbidden to her mind, but caught in her gullet, dissolving in wheezing coughs that wracked her feeble body as if there was an earthquake beneath her feet.  
  
At once the boy was at her elbow, a concerned look on his face.  
  
She raised a hand at him for patience before assuring; "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."  
  
His expression told her that he wasn't convinced, and it stayed plastered in place until her retching subsided. She heaved a deep breath, feeling balmy air rush into her lungs and turned to face him once more.  
  
"Now. Bedtime and fraidy-cats aside, just why *have* you come to visit me, little one?"  
  
"At dinner," He said warily, with more than a hint of hopefulness. "You promised you'd tell me a story, Temple Mother."  
  
"That I did." She nodded. "And I always keep my promises. Come up and sit by me, child," One hand patted the arm of the deep chair beckoningly, "Where it's more comfortable."  
  
The little boy did as he was bade, scrambling up to perch on the wide arm of the chair. He took care not to jar the woman's old bones and positioned himself where he could pay attention properly, yet still enjoy the delicious warmth of the fire. Instantly enrapt, he listened as she began. Tales such as this were given whenever the chance arose, but usually with a larger audience. Times like this were a rare treat for anyone fortunate enough to merit access to these chambers, and he valued them more than most.  
  
The elderly lady rearranged herself slightly, scooching around some so that she could look at her young audience of one. Which tale to tell him? She'd lost track of which he and the other children knew and which were still unknown to them. A fairytale, perhaps? Toadstools, fairies and skipping sprites beneath the moon. No, not for the likes of him. He didn't seem like the type of boy who'd like that sort of story. That was, to use a word of his own choosing, 'soppy'.   
  
But what then? What tale could she relate that would entertain him?  
  
A few stray memories swam into her mind, which was still as clear and unfettered as when she was a girl. They surfaced, throwing recollections her way and providing her with an idea. There was one story she was certain he didn't know. She'd never told it before, but today it seemed apt to relate it. What with the storm raging outside. Another storm had rocked this place long ago, but it hadn't been quite like this. No, that was quite a different time altogether....  
  
"Listen to me, child." She began. "All you see around you. Everything you touch, you do so as a free person. The food you eat, the air you breathe, and the stars you look upon. Yet things were not always this way. Oh, no. Many years ago, long before either you, or even your parents were born, this land was a very different place. It was a cold and cruel time, where sorcery and the sword ruled. Ach, that was a time of great fear for folk such as you or I. Earth-Realm was corrupt; being eaten away from the inside. Tyrants rose and brought everything under their iron rule. Even nature itself. Strong fighters rose up and were cast down again, and slowly a choking darkness spread across Earth-Realm, draining everything and everyone until we thought we would all die.  
  
"Ah, I grow old. My senses are not as honed as they used to be, nor is my body as strong. Youth has left me by the roadside, and yet I still have my memories. For you see, child, this story is a true one. I can still remember it as if it were only yesterday. So many years have passed, and yet I see events and people clearly in my mind."  
  
"You mean you were there?" The little boy was enthralled. "You actually *saw* it?"  
  
"Yes." She responded softly. "And more besides. Ach, I was young then, and foolish. I didn't truly understand the magnitude of what I was mixed up in, nor how my actions would affect our future - the future of *all* Earth-Realm. I was idealistic and young, but I believed. And sometimes, just believing in something is all you need to triumph. Hope can go a long way. It can build bridges, or bring down mountains. All you need is a little faith.  
  
"Listen to me, young one, and heed what I say. I shall tell you now a tale of long ago. A tale of friendship, true love and fighting darkness so intense it boggles the mind. An evil such as the world had never seen, and I pray never will again. I will tell you of peaceful folk and warriors, unassuming in their ways of life, yet thrust together by fate and expected to do the impossible to preserve our world. Listen to me closely, child, and I will tell you everything...."  
  
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	2. Interlude

DISCLAIMER: X-Men:Evo belongs to Warner Bros. And Marvel Comics. I have never, and shall never own them, no matter how much I may want to. I've simply warped them to fit my own twisted mind. However, this fic and any original work herein is officially mine, and anyone trying to steal it will find out how painful a weapon a computer mouse can when used by someone with imagination.  
  
WARNINGS: This is an AU (Alternative Universe) fic. Everything has been transplanted into a fantasy universe of my creation. Inspirations, despite what you might initially think, aren't actually from a certain Peter-Jackson-esque film, since I started work on this before I ever *saw* that movie. Influences rather include Internutter's spiffy fic 'Mein Teuful' (if you haven't yet read this then go do it *now*!) and various other sources I'll explain later.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Just bear with me a moment. This Interlude may seem tedious, but it's actually vitally important to the rest of the story. My advice - make a copy or printout of this page and keep it for later, 'cause several chapters ahead basically hinge on it. I'll let you know when to have your copy ready. Btw. Thanx to all who reviewed the Prologue. I never dreamed I'd have such a positive response so early on. Hopefully you'll all like the rest of the fic just as much.  
  
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'Of Beast And Blade' By Scribbler  
Interlude ~ 'It All Began With A Letter'  
  
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'Truthful words are not beautiful; beautiful words are not truthful. Good words are not persuasive; persuasive words are not good.' -- Lao-Tzu  
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To my dearest Temple Mother,  
  
I shall not bother you with the pleasantries I would usually write here, for my time is short and I grow weaker with every word written. Know only this - we are all in grave and terrible danger.   
  
*He* is coming.   
  
His magic has afflicted us here at the House of Loerl. He means to steal my work, though how he came to hear of it I shall never know. Already the servants are all dead, and many of our scholarly order have followed them through the Gates of Darkness. The Looking Portal in my study tells me that His forces are near. So very near. Their shields betray them with their crest - a silver sword wreathed in fire; I greatly wish you never to see such a beautifully horrifying design, my friend - but I know that he does not care whether we know of his coming or not. We are too few and too weak to fight him now. His magic had done its work.   
  
We are finished here.  
  
The messengers think it only Shaking Sickness that has struck our House, and I dare not tell them any different; for if they were to know the truth they would abandon us, I'm sure, and this letter *must* reach you before it is too late.  
  
He has done this to us because he knows of the prophecy of Calorsiel, and wants it for himself. I cannot stop him from obtaining the original tablet, but I will thwart his designs with the last of my strength by sending you this sole translation. I only hope my assistant, Maya - may the gods rest her soul - was able to destroy her copy before she too was struck down by this terrible illness His magic has sent down upon us. I haven't the power to check, and so must simply trust that she was successful and He will not receive anything that he might use to His advantage. It will take His inferior scholars many months to translate such difficult text, and thus buy you some time, my friend.  
  
Listen to me. Even with my dying breath I seek to put down any scholars not of Loerl. I would laugh, but the messenger - Darin. Do you remember him from your last visit to us? He was a mere boy then, but bears the strapping frame of his father now - grows impatient to be off. I have shielded my Looking Portal from him, but he senses that something is awry. Luckily he is loyal enough to carry out this last task for me before I grant him his freedom.  
  
Ramnet Calorsiel did indeed hold the key, just as you told me so long ago. I didn't believe you then - oh, what a fool I was. I, like so many other arrogant fools, thought Calorsiel a liar. A charlatan parading as a visionary. But I shall rectify my mistakes now, and hope that this information helps you thwart the plans of Belvedere before they can reach fruition.   
  
He *must* be stopped. His forces are too great as it is, and they grow larger every day. His touch withers the land, and there is talk that His reach has gone far beyond the southern lands now - you know well of the place I imply. The place of which nobody speaks, lest its inhabitants come a calling for their blood.  
  
Earth-Realm's only hope is the prophecy, and so I send it to you, dear Temple Mother. I know you will keep it safe and search for the saviour in my stead. That I had listened to you before, perhaps this could all have been averted.... but I dawdle. Darin taps his foot at me, as well he might. Here is the translation of which I spoke. May it prove more useful for you than I and those of our doomed House.  
  
  
  
The Calorsiel Texts  
  
In years to come, when ships no longer harbour at my dusky shore,  
And I no longer walk the golden skyways of the astral heavens;  
Chaos will once again seize these lands.  
Brother shall fight brother, and families be rent asunder by the power of the shining blade.  
Skeins of scarlet will rule the air, reeking of hate and malice,  
As the Seven Hells invade Earth-Realm, and Earth-Realm becomes the Eighth Hell.  
When one danger leads to another greater  
A silver shadow will enshroud the fate of millions.  
From sundown to sunup all will be blood,  
And the sky will burn red with the flames of despair.  
Fie on thee who scorn my words, for thou shalt be the first to fall to this most subtle foe.  
He who creeps like mist into corrupt hearts,   
And worms into the apple of the world as a tainted boon.  
Doomed art thou who sup from his cup, for he gives nothing, but takes all.  
Yet from these ill-fated ashes there will arise  
A saviour of old; reborn to strive our cause, but deadly to our eyes.  
Demons will join the Jinrui,  
And salvation shall come from the heart of the Pehora.  
It is she who will begin all and begin new.  
One with the spirit of the wildfire and beauty of the crimson blade.  
The counterfeit coin; unwilling turncoat,  
Who battles monsters of forgotten yore in a carriage drawn by a stallion of brimstone,  
To avenge those lost and succeed those who live.  
Heed me now, or forever more regret inaction.  
Look for one whom once was hunter, but is now the hunted.  
One who searches for heritage, and finds it in the meeting of two star-crossed souls.  
To add, one more; who was made by he she strives to quell,  
Her creator and destroyer combined.  
The enemy imbued her, and so she shall turn her gifts to his defeat.  
A law unto themselves; Death, Love and Hope,  
With eyes of fire and precious metal,  
Shall come as one, to be reborn as that which has been and shall be again,  
And with one hand to stay the power of the glittering darkness.   
Seek out the fallen one, o saviour,   
Who sups of the skies to bring panacea to she who stands alone,  
And aids her as the silver wrath draws near.  
A lion's roar shall herald the hour of their rebirth,  
But be warned, for salvation comes at a terrible price.  
Death is the end, and yet through it we shall be saved,  
And the guilty sent to burn in the light of destiny.  
  
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As you can see, dear Temple Mother, it is not quite finished. Some words we simply could not fathom, and I fear mistakes have been made along the way that I have no time to remedy now. I would lament for more days but it is useless. All prayer in Earth-Realm would not buy the House of Loerl another sunrise. He has seen to that.  
  
Darin looks at me now and glances out of the window. Had I not known better then I would wager he too knows of the Silver Army and their journey hence. And so I shall now depart, both in body and in spirit. I will not give them the satisfaction of killing me when they arrive. No, no. My life is still my own to do with what I will.   
  
Do not weep for me, dearest Temple Mother, for I am already dead. I can only pray that this letter reaches you in time. I beg of you, please spread the word amongst your Initiates. The saviour must be found, and many hands will complete the task more swiftly than if you work alone. Pride is a terrible thing, as I have found out to my cost.   
  
I know you would not gloat, but still, I plead your forgiveness that I flouted your counsel and discarded Ramnet Calorsiel so callously as a fraud. For what I could have prevented, I am truly, truly sorry. Words will never be able to convey the remorse I feel. I have doomed my House and our order, but I shall *not* doom the rest of Earth-Realm.   
  
My quill is heavy, and my eyelids droop. I am not to remain for much longer. Darin will help me to my bed and final resting, for my weary feet cannot make the short trip, and he will not see me die so ungraciously in my chair. It is strange, for I am only ten years his senior, yet I move now like an old woman on his shoulder. But such is the fate of those who bear the mantle of Shaking Sickness. I am actually surprised of my wakefulness this long, and can only hope that the gods have smiled upon me long enough to complete my last chore.   
  
Be safe and free, my friend. Be safe and free. All our hopes depend now on you.  
  
Yours,  
Halthor Umar  
Head Scholar of the House of Loerl,  
First academic order of Earth-Realm.  
  
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	3. And So We Begin

DISCLAIMER: X-Men:Evo belongs to Warner Bros. And Marvel Comics. I have never, and shall never own them, no matter how much I may want to. I've simply warped them to fit my own twisted mind. However, this fic and any original work herein is officially mine, and anyone trying to steal it will find out how painful a weapon a computer mouse can when used by someone with imagination.  
  
WARNINGS: This is an AU (Alternative Universe) fic. Everything has been transplanted into a fantasy universe of my creation. Inspirations, despite what you might initially think, aren't actually from a certain Peter-Jackson-esque film, since I started work on this before I ever *saw* that movie. Influences rather include Internutter's spiffy fic 'Mein Teuful' (if you haven't yet read this then go do it *now*!) and various other sources I'll explain later.  
  
CODES:   
Hello = Narration  
~ Hello ~ = Thought  
"Hello" = Character Speaking  
*Hello* = Bold  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: And here we have it. I suppose you could say that this is the *true* start of this fic, since these were the first words I typed back in March. All I can say now is, forget what you think you know about X-Men:Evo, 'cause I will invariably have warped it somehow. If you have any queries at all throughout the course of this fic, then don't hesitate to ask in either review or email form ( emails to electric_hairdo@hotmail.com ), and I'll try to the best of my abilities to answer any questions you have without spoiling anything. *Please* review. I had such a fantastic response for the Prologue. It would be more than wonderful if those same people who reviewed last time could do so again and tell me what they think now that the fic has started properly. ^_^;; All translations necessary will be given at the chapter's end.  
  
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'Of Beast And Blade' By Scribbler  
Chapter One ~ 'And So We Begin'   
  
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"Predicting the future is easy. It's trying to figure out what's going on now that's hard." -- Fritz R. S. Dressler  
  
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She was being watched. Even before she'd finished descending the hillock, she was being watched.   
  
The cheerful Summer morn bore witness to a strange sight. One lone female, trekking determinedly through the grasses. She strode with a resolute, purposeful gait, yet there was an air of stealth about her movements. An easy fluidity usually attributed to cats and other such animals.   
  
This scene in itself was not particularly remarkable. Many came this way, usually alone, and always for the same reason. What was different about this person was her attire. A long hooded cloak swirled about her body, for the most part covering her in its dark folds. But, whenever an errant zephyr blew this protection away, male clothing and parts of male armour were revealed beneath. Curtailed and individualized into a smoother form, yet that of a man nonetheless. With this in mind, it was amazing to conceive how the wearer could move speedily at all, let alone in such a silent manner.   
  
She knew she was being watched. It was difficult to sneak up on her. The fact that she was still alive was testament to the fact that she'd honed sensing enemies down to a fine art. Yet she did nothing. No movement, no falter in her step betrayed that she was aware of who followed her. Moments were precious and curious things. You had to pick exactly the right one if you wanted to strike properly. She'd learned that very early on in her chosen career, and still bore the scars from when she'd been less that perfect in her timing.  
  
She crested the small hummock with ease, her pace constant and unchanging. On either side now was a thick mass of closely-knit trees. The turf was springy underfoot, but her footsteps left barely a mark, such was the speed and lightness of her step.   
  
Abruptly she halted, and stared about her, as if gauging her position. She was sure this was the right direction. Those people in the village had been only too glad to tell her the way - not surprising considering her intimidating appearance. Rumours were rife recently, and suspicions grew twice as fast. It seemed she couldn't go anywhere without hushed whispers and pointing fingers following in her wake. Yet now, she wondered if those villagers had really sent her down the correct route. Her surroundings didn't match the descriptions she'd been given, and the air didn't smell right. Something was amiss.  
  
This place truly was in the middle of nowhere, she mused. Behind lay the village she'd just left, (what was it called again? Padra, Podra... something like that) which bordered onto the great, open plain to the East. To the North rose the craggy peaks of the Esch Mountains, tipped with snow all year round whatever the weather in lower regions, and impenetrable to all but the most experienced climbers. The West and South were swallowed up by a huge expanse of thick woodland - the famous Black Forest of Germania. Yet none of these interested the female. Her goal was much closer.  
  
The sound of a twig snapping somewhere to her left signalled her follower's presence. Whoever was there hadn't her silent tread, and the hooded figure let a hand stray to her belt.  
  
"I know you're there." She called. "If ya'll wanna fight, then make yourself known and fight me properly. I ain't got time for games and other matters require mah immediate attention."  
  
Silence. Only the sound of a distant nightingale betrayed that any living thing was abroad. The cloaked female might have been stone, her pursuer part of the trees. For several minutes nothing moved. Then came a small, seemingly insignificant shuffle, which could have been dismissed as no more than a shifting shadow among the trunks, had it not been for the decisive nature of it.  
  
"I do not wish to fight you." A sudden voice cut through the stifling silence. Husky and soft, it struggled slightly with the Common pronunciation, and a broad Germanic accent clung to the words.  
  
"Then why were you following me?" Demanded the female, her own voice staying level, devoid of any emotion.  
  
"I was curious."  
  
She seemed unsatisfied with this answer, and her fingers curled around the hilt of her blade, though she left it in its scabbard for the moment. "Show yourself."  
  
Another pause, this time accompanied by faint scrabbling in the branches above her head. Smoothly, almost languidly, a figure unfurled itself from the shadows to perch upon a thick bough not twenty feet from the ground. If the female was shocked by its appearance then she didn't show it. Golden eyes stared down at her with unconcealed interest, framed as they were by a mass of indigo fur and unkempt hair. It gripped the tree branch with hands consisting of only three, thick fingers, and - though its feet were tucked carefully under it - she assumed its toes must be much the same.   
  
A sneer tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Demon!"  
  
At once the golden eyes became angry. "I'm no demon, Frauline, and I'll thank you to keep your accusations to yourself."  
  
"If you're not a demon, then what are you?"  
  
The creature leaped gracefully to the branches of a neighbouring tree, forcing her to twist her head in order to keep eye contact.   
  
"A watcher. A member of the audience. And an acrobat. Will you watch my show, Frauline?" Immediately, it disappeared into the dense foliage with a mischievous laugh.  
  
The cloaked female was less than impressed. A shower of leaves fell about her head as the unorthodox performer danced merrily on a precariously thin branch. She muttered a low curse beneath her breath.  
  
"Kaju!"  
  
The strange blue non-demon dropped to a lower bough, pointed ears twitching at this word. Its heightened senses had heard her clearly, and recognised the Guild origins of the insult. Her atypical garments and accent stirred a memory at the back of its mind, and its eyes widened like two new moons as, coupled with this word, it recognized the identity of the speaker.  
  
"Oh, I know who *you* are. She said you'd be coming soon."  
  
"Then you also know why I'm here." She replied brusquely, releasing her grasp on the blade hilt. Perhaps this strange one knew where to go.  
  
It grinned, revealing sharp white fangs. "The same reason they all come. She's right this way." A long dexterous tail, previously unnoticed, snaked around the branch, and the blue figure toppled forward to swing, monkey style, into the leafy embrace of the next tree. The female followed, not increasing her pace. Several times the creature had to return for her, filling the air with useless orders like, "Hurry up, Frauline." "Go faster." And, "Pick up the pace." All of which she ignored. This was the speed she chose to travel at, and no immature, furry blue elf was going to tell her otherwise.  
  
Eventually, the elf, too, came to this conclusion, and instead filled the silence with what seemed like a hundredfold of questions - none of which she answered, but which it asked regardless.  
  
"Why have you come to see her? Is it something important? Did you visit the village? What's it like where you come from? Is it nice? Do you like this place? Did you have to cross the plain to get here? Is that male armour? Can I see your sword?"  
  
"You'll be seeing mah sword in close-up in a minute if you don't stop jabbering!" She growled.  
  
"But then you'd never find her." It quipped, flying gracefully through the air to land without a stumble on what was really no more than a glorified twig. "Das ist why I'm here. I show sincere people the way, and get rid of those who are only out to cause trouble."  
  
"You're the keeper I've heard tell about, then." The female surmised. "There was talk of you in the village."  
  
"Ach, I hope es war gut talk." It replied. "Nearly there now."  
  
"How do you know I'm not here to cause trouble? Especially if mah reputation precedes me."  
  
It halted for a second in an ancient Oak, and crouched, thinking for a while, before saying; "I can just tell. I don't know how, but I know your purpose is sincere."  
  
It would say no more on the matter - though it said much more on others - and presently they arrived at what they were seeking. A small glade, surrounded on all sides by forest. In the centre of this tranquil place there stood a building. I say building in the loosest sense, for it was really little more than a hovel, with a brown tent stretched across the entrance in the manner of a fortune-teller's booth. The female peered at it from beneath her hood, disbelief evident in her gaze.  
  
"*This* is it?"  
  
"Ja." The creature answered from a nearby Elm. "You were expecting something a little grander, perhaps?" It added with a snicker. "This is all that was allowed for she and I. Nicht wunderbar, aber it's enough. Shall we go in?"  
  
She replied by striding forward, leaving her guide calling from its treetop.  
  
"Hey, Frauline, wait for me!"  
  
But she kept on walking. Why should she wait for that little misshapen runt? A vague thump signified its jump from the tree to the ground, and a soft patter soon reached her side. The creature moved easily on all fours, slackening its pace as it fell into step next to her.   
  
"Hey, you can't just go barging in there. She deserves her privacy like anyone else. I have to announce you. Please, wait."  
  
The imp's whiny tome irked her, and she swiped absently at it as you or I would do a fly. The creature easily avoided her half-hearted blow, and increased its pace just enough to cross in front of her and sit down firmly in her way, arms outstretched.  
  
"Frauline, I must protest. It is improper for you to simply walk into our home in this way."  
  
For a moment the hooded individual was startled. This was their home? She'd assumed it was just some sort of booth reserved for business, and that they lived somewhere else. The expression lasted only an instant, however, and she schooled her features back into a mask of indifference with practised ease.  
  
"Get out of mah way." Her voice was soft, dangerous. Anyone who knew her would have sensed the menace present there. But not the non-demon. It staunchly shook its head. ~So immature.~ She thought. "I'm telling you one last time. Move, or I'll move you." Once again it shook its head. "Very well." Her hand closed again on the handle to her sword. Noting the action with its quick, golden eyes, the furry being assumed a combat stance. Its slender tail lashed angrily from side to side as, with a metallic clink, she began to draw the blade.  
  
Suddenly they were both stopped. A new voice from inside the tent cut across the scenario like a whip, causing the female to cease and the creature to visibly wince.  
  
"Stop. I won't have violence at my home. Put away your weapon, stranger. You may enter if you wish. I was already aware of your presence."  
  
The female sheathed her blade and started forward. However, a familiar blue bundle leapt into her path.  
  
"But she hasn't been properly introduced, I - " It was cut off by the new voice again.  
  
"It's fine. I'll accept her in, Kurt. Leave us."  
  
The creature crouched down until its belly nearly touched the ground, and crawled respectfully away with much grumbling about rudeness. When its thrashing tail had finally vanished into the undergrowth, the voice came again, friendly and inviting from inside the tent entrance.  
  
"Come in, stranger."   
  
She did so, stepping through the tattered doorway to find herself in a dingy half-room. The air was thick and heavy, weighed down by the sweet aroma of incense. Little light was available inside the space, and she narrowed her eyes in an attempt to see its contents more clearly.  
  
"You can't see." The voice came again, rich and musical. It was female, but much older than she, and had about it an intangible air of experience and knowledge.  
  
"No, I can't."  
  
"You don't seek only physical light." The voice stated, not unkindly. "A more spiritual illumination would be yours, I think."   
  
"You think right, but a little real light would go amiss either. I can hardly see a damn thing in here."  
  
Her comment was answered with a laugh, and then brilliance abruptly filled the room as a small, yet powerful lamp atop a small round table in the centre was lit. The hooded figure blinked as her eyes became used to the sudden brightness.  
  
Before her stood a remarkable individual. She stood almost six feet tall, with robes of a faded magenta wrapped closely around her body, tied at the waist by a customary yellow belt. The gown was hooded, but the cowl remained down, exposing a shock of straight, orange hair. This was not the pallid ginger so often found in children from the East, but a vibrant hue that almost lit the room with its own personal lustre. The woman turned to her guest, revealing a face of flawless skin the colour of a clear sky.   
  
The female didn't greet this bizarre, yet somehow stately woman with the same cries as she had the non-demon. Something about her, some impalpable force, erased the thought of 'demon' completely from her mind, and she could only stare like a gawping fish as the beautiful woman crossed the room towards her.  
  
"Greetings, she who seeks the light. I am - "  
"I know who you are, Mystique, the Seer." The cloaked female put in. She was suddenly painfully aware of how high-pitched and young her own voice sounded when compared to the Seer's more mellow tone.  
  
The one known as Mystique smiled. "I see. You know of me, and now I would like to see the face of the one I am to do business with, if you don't mind. An oddity of mine, but one I'd prefer to keep alive. Your hood, please." She gestured with one slender blue hand.  
  
The stranger lifted her hands and gripped the edges of her cowl, revealing calloused palms, well used to hard work and labour. In a movement as quick and fluid as all her actions were, she'd removed the fabric to show what lay beneath.  
  
Compared with Mystique's, the stranger's appearance was positively mundane, though she did possess a harsh beauty all of her own. A thick mop of auburn hair sprouted haphazardly from her skull, mussed in places and damp with sweat from travelling under a hood. Two white streaks ran either side of her face, which was itself almost as snowy in colour, only lightened by sparse amounts of tint splashed here and there, creating an almost gothic quality. Her dark eyes were deep and fathomless - about as different from the Seer's white orbs it was possible to be.  
  
A gasp caught in Mystique's throat. "So, my visions were true. You are the one."  
  
"Yeah." The newcomer lowered her gaze. Mystique only continued staring at her, something akin to incredulity etched into her features.  
  
"The Rogue of the Guild of Assassins."  
  
"Yeah, that's me." The younger girl's tone was bleak and cold; plainly indicating this was a topic she wished not to discuss. Mystique quickly picked up on this, and swiftly changed the subject to something a little more neutral.  
  
"You must forgive Kurt." She said, moving to sit down at the round table and motioning that The Rogue should do the same on the opposite side. "He's fiercely protective of me, and living alone as we do hasn't done much to improve his people skills."  
  
"Kurt?" The sallow girl seemed surprised that the blue furry elf had a name, whilst simultaneously wondering whether the whole tent thing was just a gimmick for gullible tourists eager to have their palms read and their fortunes told.  
  
"Yes. My son, and protector, as he'd like to be known."  
  
Her son. Yes, she could see the family resemblance, although the question of where Kurt's fur and tail had come from refused to be quelled within The Rogue's mind.   
  
"Isn't he a seer too?" She asked.  
  
Mystique shook her head. "His talents haven't properly developed themselves yet, but it's usual among the Pella-Azul - our people - for only women to possess the gift of prophecy. Men's abilities vary. Sometimes they have no powers at all. Sometimes they have too many to be contained in a single mortal body, and perish in the flames of their own gifts." She sighed. "I dearly hope Kurt isn't to be one of those poor individuals."  
  
"Look, Mystique," The Rogue began. "I think you know why I'm here, so why don't we just get this over with." She hated having to be rude to this wonderfully exotic woman, but the situation called for it. They would pick up her trail soon, and she wanted to have this done with before They could find her.  
  
The blue-skinned woman nodded. "You wish to learn whether what the texts say is true or not."  
  
She knew about the texts? Of course she would, she was a seer, after all. "Pretty much. I can pay you whatever you want, I got money right here." She patted her belt purse in the confident manner of one who knows she can defend herself. "So, tell me what you want, then tell me what I wanna know."  
  
"The charge is irrelevant." Mystique said softly. The Rogue narrowed her eyes.  
  
"Look, I ain't no thief. Just tell me how much and then we can get started." She detached the drawstring purse and opened it up. Several coins chinked together melodically into her hand, and she held them up for the woman to see. Yet again, Mystique shook her head. Light from the lamp bounced off her vivid tresses, creating watery shadows on the tent walls, which danced like drunken fireflies.  
  
"Look," The Rogue laid out three coins on the wooden tabletop. Two golden Liones and a silver Kistril. The standard charge for a Seer's services. "Either you take these damn coins, or else I'm walking. Right out of this tent, and right off to find another Seer who *will* take mah money!"  
  
Mystique stared at the three circles of metal, then up into The Rogue's determined face. "Once again, the visions have been proved truthful. They spoke of you being righteous, despite your profession - albeit, they didn't mention such unconventional means of demonstrating it."  
  
"I have mah own code, which I live by. Now, are you gonna take mah money or what?"  
  
"You're not going to let me refuse, are you?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"I'll take them, then."  
  
"Good." The Rogue nodded, as if this closed the matter. She leaned forward in her chair - which was actually proving to be quite uncomfortable for her spine. Perhaps it had been designed with a certain tailed individual in mind. "Tell me, how do you know all this stuff, anyways?"  
  
"I don't *know* anything." Mystique sniffed. "I am only brushed by possibilities. Prophecy is one-tenth visions and nine-tenths interpretation. Now, let us begin with your questions. I will tell you what I can, but don't press me for more information if I don't have it or it could be dangerous. A seer's searching spirit too far from its body-anchor is the easiest to sever and be lost in the abyss."  
  
The Rogue bobbed her head. Mystique quietly rose from her chair and crossed the small room to a battered bureau on the other side. From it, she extracted a leather bag; drawn tight with a rawhide thong - almost identical to The Rogue's purse, save for its size. The seer sat back down and unfastened it, carefully removing several objects and laying them down on the table before her. A crucible, the dried leaves of some unidentifiable plant, and a strange yellow candle soon rested on the wooden surface. The auburn haired girl watched, intrigued, as Mystique lit the candle, and then extinguished the lamp, plunging the room into an eerie semi-lit state. She then took the leaves and closed her hand into a fist around them, crushing them to dust, which she trickled into the tiny, white crucible. The Rogue marvelled at how not one of the many miniscule fragments failed to go into the bowl, and peered intently as Mystique dripped hot wax from the candle on top of them. She'd never seen a real seer at work before. These were secret and private rituals, reserved only for those who chose to consult the women blessed with the gift, and forbidden to be spoken of outside their company.   
  
Mystique continued, oblivious to the girl's patent curiosity. She appeared to be working herself into some kind of trance. The viscous wax did indeed have a somewhat hypnotic quality about it as it dribbled over the leaves, and the faint smell of sulphur soon became apparent. A low rumbling permeated the thick air. The Rogue almost started when she realised that this abnormal growling was in fact Mystique's voice - completely different to her usual dulcet tone. She was muttering alien words from an unknown language in a voice that balanced on a knife-edge between soothing and savage. The ancient language of the seers! Jealously guarded and taught to no one but those of pure Pella-Azul seer blood. Even their own males had no knowledge of this archaic tongue.  
  
Mystique raised her eyes. He gaze was unfocused and distant, and when she spoke, it was in a voice that could only be compared to brittle leaves on an Autumn breeze.  
  
"We are the those who have no name, yet are called everything. We are all, yet we are nothing. Creation and destruction, blown across the mists of time and space since the millennia before this land was born. Speak now, stranger. For what reason have you called upon us, keepers of the secrets of ages?"  
  
The Rogue cleared her throat. Suddenly her mouth felt dry, and she cursed herself in all the languages she knew for her weakness.  
  
"I am the one known as The Rogue. And I would seek you counsel, Great Ones."  
  
"The Rogue of the Guild of Assassins? For what reason call you us hence, oh she who is spurned from her own?"  
  
"Do y'all know of the Texts of Calorsiel?"  
  
"The scrolls scribed by he who possessed the gift not his own. We do. How dare you ask such a question, mortal! We know all that takes place in this universe. It is our domain, our creation. To think we would not know is an insult of the highest calibre." A gust of foul smelling wind sprang up from nowhere, buffeting the girl's face and causing the candle to flicker. She blinked, her eyeballs suddenly dry.  
  
"I'm sorry, oh Great Ones." The Rogue apologised hastily. "I didn't mean no disrespect. I only wanted to know, well.... I've been having such strange dreams of late, and recently I came across an extract from those there scrolls that seemed awful similar. I've found nobody in this realm who I could ask about this. Oh Masterful Beings, I'd just like to know, what does it all mean?"  
  
"You ask things which are none of your concern." The hissing voice replied. Every utterance seemed to ooze power; so fierce that it made the mind boggle as to what kind of authority such entities possessed who could convey command from only a borrowed mouth. "The knowledge you seek is not yours to possess, outlaw. Yet we shall tell you this. Seek not what is in the light, for it is only in darkness that all may be made well."  
  
"I don't understand." The Rogue said plaintively. At once the wind blew so strongly that the guttering flame vanished, and she was forced to raise her arms in order to shield her face.  
  
"Do not trouble us with mortal trivialities such as understanding. Go now, and do not call upon us with questions not yours to ask, you who are pursued by shadows."   
  
The wind howled, drowning her in its stench as it drove its way into her nose, her mouth, her throat. Then all at once it was gone, leaving only a bitter aftertaste like that of sour milk on her tongue.   
  
Mystique's head dropped onto her chest, her breathing coming in short laboured gasps. Her entire frame shook with each shuddering intake of breath, and it took several minutes for her to return to normal. When she did, she raised her face, white eyes scanning the table with no regard for the encompassing darkness smothering everything from sight.   
  
"I do so hate it when they leave a mess behind." She sighed. "Deities they may be, but they're still awfully untidy things." There was a quick 'ch-chish' as she relit the candle, revealing that the crucible had been turned over, spilling its sticky contents all over the work surface. "Did you find out what you wanted?" She asked; reaching into the leather bag for a cloth she'd already set aside for this very purpose. Apparently this kind of thing happened a lot when she worked.  
  
"Kinda." The Rogue answered vaguely. "At least, I think so."  
  
"You think so?"  
  
"Yeah, they said - "  
  
"No! You mustn't tell me." Mystique said quickly, holding up a cerulean hand to stop the girl's comment progressing any further. "A prophecy is meant only for the ears of the one it's given to. To tell someone else is to invite disaster on both them and you."  
  
"Oh." The girl responded. But how was she supposed to figure out what it meant if she couldn't ask anyone about it? Those damn Powers That Be. Figures they'd make this more difficult then it should have to be. They couldn't even answer a straightforward question without promising death and destruction. Typical!  
  
She got to her feet. "Well, I'll be on mah way then. Thanks for your help, and all."  
  
"I did nothing." The colourful woman said softly. "You were the one who conversed with the Powers, not I."  
  
"Yeah, well, whatever." She said, hastily pulling her cowl over her head. She had to leave, now! She'd stayed too long already. They would be coming soon. "I'll see y'all around sometime. Goodbye, Mystique the Seer." She gave a curt nod, and then was gone through the door with all the silence of a butterfly's whisper, and twice the immutable grace.  
  
Mystique watched the fraying hole that served as her doorway. A small smile pulled at her azure lips. Not a happy smile, or even a malicious smile. But a sad smile, born of sobering knowledge.  
  
"But you won't."  
  
*******************  
  
Kurt lay stretched out across a tree branch. A gentle breeze ruffled his fur, and the sun beat down, deliciously warm, upon his hide. His eyes were closed, and he was - to all intents and purposes - asleep. That is, until you noticed his tail, dangling over the side of his perch, actively flicking this way and that with a mixture of impatience and irritation at the flies that insisted on swarming round it. He wouldn't have minded, but it wasn't as if he smelled bad enough to attract them. He was very clean - having blue fur all over your body to which dirt insisted on clinging did that to a person.  
  
The day was balmy, yet not uncomfortably so, and Kurt bathed himself liberally in the sunshine. Waiting had never been his forte, so he'd decided early on in his vigil to make the most of his day and get in some sunbathing. Yet now time was telling upon his restless nature. He was twitchy. The slightest hint of a fly, and he would either inadvertently lash his tail - honestly, that thing seemed to have a mind of its own! - or open one golden eye and glare murderously at the winged intruder.   
  
Finally he turned over, draping both arms and legs over the sides of the branch. His tail remained in the air, waving to and fro of its own accord. Physical evidence of his growing impatience.  
  
It had been over an hour now. He could tell by where the sun was in the sky. What were they doing in there? He knew his mother sometimes took quite some time to prepare herself, but surely their conference should have ended long ago. Kurt sighed loudly, breath blowing back in his face as it bounced off the tree bark.  
  
Not for the first time, he contemplated the strange visitor. The figure had been wearing a deep hood of the kind that hid one's face, but he'd been able to tell from the voice that it was female. Quite young too, probably not more than a year or two older than him. People had always interested him. Aside from Mystique, he only ever saw them when they came to visit the Seer. For some reason, they seemed doubly curious about him, a little fearful too. Many times he'd introduced himself, only to receive screams and insults in return. Several times people had tried to hurt him, but he was too quick and agile for them to do any real harm. The forest was his home, and as long as he stayed here, nobody could ever catch him. These experiences had taught him much, though. When to make himself known, and when to stay hidden. How to read body language, and differentiate between those who were simply harmless travellers and those who posed a potential threat to he and his mother. He learned more from simply watching people then from conversing with them, and was an expert in the art of silence.  
  
This new girl interested him. She seemed so harsh and savage. Yet in her he could also read sincerity and honesty. These conflicting signals confused him, and he was eager to find out more about her. Mystique would never tell him what went on when she worked for a client - she was very professional about things like that. And it was absolutely forbidden for him to listen in during a consultation! Since the very beginning, when his distant ancestors first roamed the land it had been the women who were seers, and the men whose powers varied in form. Usually, talents manifested themselves around adolescence, but as of yet, Kurt's had failed to do so. He wasn't worried though. Being a rather relaxed individual, he simply accepted that they'd appear with time. Right now, there were other, more exciting things to think about. Like who this visitor was, and why she gave off such contradictory signs.  
  
She was from one of the southern realms - that much was discernable from her accent. They'd had visitors from the South before, but they were all soft-bred merchants and traders, anxious to see the future for their businesses, or try to pre-ordain the outcome of some money related venture or other. She definitely wasn't any softhearted merchant's daughter. Her edges were much too abrasive for that.  
  
Kurt blinked as an errant piece of dust blew into his eye. He pawed at it for a moment with one tri-dactyl hand, but only served to make his eye water, dampening the fur around it with clear liquid. He sighed again. When would they finish?  
  
Abruptly, he sat up, scratched himself behind one elfin ear with his tail, and gathered his feet under him. Though slender and sickly looking, Kurt's body hid a tremendous strength, and he utilized it now to leap from his roost into the leafy branches of a nearly Elm. He'd barely landed when he propelled himself forward again, taking a single bound into the heart of the next tree, then the next, and the next, and the next, until he at last found himself enfolded in the verdant embrace of an aging Birch overlooking the hovel he and his mother called home. Pointing his nose downward, he proceeded to shin vertically down the tree's thick trunk until he was level with the roof of the tent. Here he found himself a thick bough, and settled down to wait from a considerably better vantage point then he'd previously held on the other side of the glade.  
  
He didn't have long to wait. Several short minutes passed, and then a figure exited the tent. Clad in a swirling mass of dusky fabric, Kurt identified it as the southern stranger, and focused his sharper-than-average golden eyes upon her retreating form.   
  
She carried herself confidently, yet delicately, and the furry boy was somehow reminded of a puma he'd come across in the forest a few winters ago, when it had descended from the desolate mountains in search of food. That food had almost been Kurt, and he'd only escaped by the skin of his teeth. The memory of the puma's snarling jaws were etched into his memory for all eternity, but he also remembered its grace. The almost noble way it bore itself, as if daring the world to take it on. The same aura surrounded the hooded girl, and, rather than quell Kurt's intense curiosity, it served only to fan the flames of his inquisitiveness. Here was another conflicting signal to add to the mix. Just who was this girl?  
  
He watched as she disappeared into the undergrowth. She'd avoided the path she used to enter the clearing, choosing instead to battle her way through the thicker part of the forest. She certainly can take care of herself if she'd going that way, Kurt mused. Even he thought twice about straying too far into *that* part of the Black Forest. Stories abounded about the strange and terrifying creatures to be found in that area, and though he didn't always believe these tall tales, he avoided venturing in there where he could.   
  
He stared after the girl, watching the bushes until they finally stopped moving and he was sure she'd gone. Raising himself from where he'd been arranged across the branch, he stretched, groaning slightly as he extended his stiff muscles, then jumped - nearly toppling off the limb altogether - as a voice cut through the encircling silence.  
  
"You're a regular little peeping tom, aren't you?"  
  
Kurt stared down into the face of his mother. She stood beneath his perch, having left the tent through the back entrance, and thus avoiding his sight. She was smiling, and didn't appear angry with him for watching one of her clients. Rather, her comment was made in jest, a smile tugging about the corners of her cobalt mouth. She spoke in Germanic, their native language, incongruously pronouncing each syllable with all the enunciation of an aristocrat.  
  
"Do you mind?"  
  
"Not at all. As long as you remember not to interrupt or spy on me when I'm working. I don't know if I can say the same for *her* though." She indicated to where the cloaked girl had vanished.   
  
Kurt swivelled his head to stare back at the bushes. "Who was she, Mother?"  
  
"Kurt, you know I can't tell you that." Mystique wagged a finger at her curious son. "All things that pass between me and a client are strictly private."  
  
He shrugged, smiling. "It was worth a try."  
  
Kurt lay back down on his front, and then rolled sideways off the branch. A strangled gasp escape Mystique's lips at the sight of her son plummeting to the ground, but she needn't have worried. Kurt's agility had never been known to fail him, and it didn't do so now. Turning a showy somersault in mid-air, the indigo boy landed, cat-like, on all fours, bending his elbows and inverted knees to cushion the impact. He sprang up onto two feet, a giddy grin plastered to his face. He knew he'd scared her, if only for a moment, and took adolescent pleasure from her concern. She in turn lovingly cuffed him around the head. To anybody else watching, this might have seemed a rather violent action, but that couldn't have been farther from the truth. Mystique was careful only to brush Kurt's flyaway hair with her palm, and in doing so she demonstrated her concern for her son's safety, whilst he showed his trust that she wouldn't actually hit him. Essentially, it was affection portrayed as aggression.  
  
"I've never seen one like her before." Kurt stated, dancing around the older woman. She struggled to keep an eye on him, and he laughed with glee as she twisted this way and that whilst he easily evaded her eyesight.  
  
"No, me neither."  
  
"She was The Rogue, wasn't she?"  
  
Mystique abruptly looked startled. "How did you know that?"  
  
"Her armour gave her away. Plus she called me 'Kaju'. I don't know what it means exactly, but I do know that it's an Assassin's word. I heard two travellers talking a while ago - "  
  
"Gehín."  
  
Kurt blinked, confused. "Excuse me?"  
  
"The private language of the Guild of Assassins. It's called Gehín. And before you ask, no, you don't want to know what 'Kaju' means!"   
  
Kurt stopped his prancing long enough to stare at Mystique. "But if it's a private language for the members of the Guild, then how do *you* know what it means, Mother?"  
  
Mystique didn't answer, and Kurt noticed how she suddenly averted her gaze, refusing to look him in the face. He tipped his head in the manner of a bemused puppy, told off by its master, but not knowing what it had done to receive such harsh words.  
  
For what seemed like the billionth time, Kurt reflected on his mother and her oddities. They started small, like how she hadn't the pronounced accent he possessed when speaking Common. Probably, this was because she'd been speaking it for longer, but sometimes he played with the idea that it was actually because Germania wasn't the land of her birth. Usually he discarded this idea as soon as it entered his brain, but he couldn't help considering it from time to time. Mystique was fluent in several languages. Common Tongue, Germanic, and now it seemed he could add Gehín to the list. He reflected on how little he knew about his mother's life before this modest glade in the forest where he'd been born and raised. What he did know had been gleaned in total secrecy, and solely from various objects and paraphernalia stashed away in their home. She thought he didn't know about the fragments of yellowed parchment he'd discovered when - trying to be helpful - he'd rolled up her sleeping mat. Or the pendant she kept anxiously locked away with her seer accoutrements. Little things, insignificant to the naked eye, but which spoke volumes to his searching mind.   
  
Or did she know? Was she aware of the knowledge he carried, so sketchy, with the numerous blanks largely filled in by his own imagination? It was very difficult to tell, when one's mother was a seer, just exactly what she did and didn't know.  
  
Mystique gazed at her son. Her one and only child. The fruit of her womb. She cherished him more than anything in the world, though she'd seldom told him that. Her heart prevented her from expressing such intense emotion any more, even to her own offspring. Ironic, that a muscle which used to beat such fiery and ardent passion should now be the cause for her keeping her love locked away. True, she displayed affection for him, but that was all it ever was. Affection. It had never gone beyond that pathetic flavour of an emotion. She'd never said she loved him. Ever. She'd tried, but the word had caught in her throat. Clogging in her gullet like some evil mordant gas.  
  
Now, as she gazed into his questioning golden eyes, she realised the true extent of her love for her son. Her pride in him. He'd been so badly treated by people who came up here to see her, but it never seemed to faze him. He always retained that elated, carefree attitude, shrugging off insults like water off a duck's back. It panged her inside that she should only appreciate him when it was too late. For she had seen what was to come. Kurt had so much to offer the world. So much.... life. It wouldn't be right for her to take that away simply because she didn't want to be alone when They came. If she couldn't say it, then at least she could show her love for him by sparing him that.  
  
"You're curious about her, aren't you?" Mystique broke the tense silence at last. Kurt paused for a second, a little bemused by the sudden reversion in subject, before nodding vigorously.  
  
"Oh, yes. She's so... so different. I can read so much from her movements, but I can hardly understand any of it. It's like.... it's like she's not complete. The glue which should be holding together all the different signals I see isn't there, so they're floating freely, with no place to go and no purpose to serve."  
  
"You saw all that just from how she walked?"  
  
"No, Mother. How she *moved*. It's something quite different."  
  
"But you spent less than fifteen minutes in her company." His mother protested, "And from what I could see, she was just about ready to cut you up into tiny, furry, blue pieces. You sound almost sorry for her when you talk like that."  
  
"I see what I see." Kurt grinned. "I can't help it." Unexpectedly, he chose that moment to perform a spectacular back flip. It was as if his body had decided of its own accord to lighten the oppressive atmosphere that had sprung up. Mystique marvelled at his impressive gymnastics - all self-taught - and felt another swell of maternal pride. He was good enough to make lots of money in a circus if he'd wanted, not that the notion of him joining one had ever crossed either of their minds.  
  
"Kurt."   
  
He ceased the flaunting of his talents. A sober note had crept into Mystique's voice, and it gripped him in an intangible iron embrace, forcing him to obediently listen to what she had to say.  
  
"Yes, Mother."  
  
The blue skinned woman steeled herself for what she was about to do. The magenta sleeves of her faded robes engulfed her arms, and beneath the cloth her hands clenched into fists so tight that a thin trickle of blood began to ooze from where her nails pressed into her palms. Oh, curse this mortal weakness!  
  
"I want you to leave."  
  
"What?" He hadn't been expecting *that*, and her remark threw him off balance a little. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I want you to go with The Rogue. Follow her, and join her in her travels."  
  
He was shocked at such an order - for an order was what it was, there was no mistaking that - yet at the same time, he was also intrigued.... and delighted. To travel with The Rogue herself, and with his Mother's blessing too. He'd often wondered what it would be like to leave the Dark Forest, and as a child, had imagined himself having swashbuckling adventures in distant lands, accompanied always by an equally piratical companion. To journey far and wide, interacting with new people and experiencing new cultures. Now it seemed his childhood dreams were to become a reality. He was almost lost for words - a rare occurrence indeed!  
  
"You mean it?"  
  
His eyes were shining, Mystique could see. If any qualm was going to try and overtake her resolve, the sight of Kurt's happy beam banished it utterly. She gave a wan smile.  
  
"Yes. You're old enough now, and it's high time you made your own way in the world, away from my apron strings."  
  
These last words pierced Kurt's euphoria, and his furry brows knitted hastily together. "But what about you? I can't leave you here alone."  
  
"Kurt, I'm quite capable of tasking care of myself. I've taken care of you single-handedly for the last sixteen years. It'll be like a vacation."  
  
"At least, until I get back." He grinned mischievously.  
  
That small, sad smile broached her lips again. "Yes. Until you get back."  
  
"Oh thank you! Thank you! I'll just fetch a few things I'll need, and then I'll be off." Kurt started bounding towards the door to their tent.  
  
"No!" Mystique exclaimed, stepping in front of him. He pulled up just in the nick of time, skidding to a halt mere inches from her face. Even so, the two ended up almost nose-to-nose, and probably would have done had it not been for the boy's diminutive height next to his mother. His expression became quizzical. Did this mean she didn't want him to go after all? Had she changed her mind?  
  
Mystique folded her bleeding hand in on itself to staunch the flow of blood. Not that it would matter soon.   
  
He couldn't stay! Every moment wasted here was a moment of advantage given to Them. He had to leave. Now! But how to make him understand without telling him all that she knew? Mystique was aware that if Kurt knew what was coming then he wouldn't leave her, and she wanted him to have the chance at a life.  
  
"What's that matter, Mother? Have you changed your mind?"  
  
"No, no." What to say? What to say? Ah, got it! "It's just that, well, The Rogue must be moving pretty fast. She seemed in an awful hurry, and you don't want to lose her and be left behind, do you?"  
  
"But, my clothes...."  
  
"Kurt, you only have one other set. Think of it as a crash course in taking the initiative."  
  
He stared up at her, golden eyes filled with warmth. Her insides panged again, and it was all she could do to keep from crying out for him to stay. Instead, she grated; "Go now."  
  
"Thank you, Mother." He whispered. Then he did something totally unpredicted. He reached up and planted a kiss on her flawless cheek, before turning tail and bolting across the glade in the direction The Rogue had taken.   
  
Mystique touched her skin where he'd pecked her. The nerve endings still tingled where his fur had brushed against her, and her white eyes filled with unshed tears.  
  
She wanted to run after him, wanted to scream and shout. To call him back to her side and tell him everything, so that they could face what was coming together.   
  
But she didn't.  
  
She didn't move a single muscle. This was for the best, and she knew it, however much it hurt. In a low voice, she murmured a few short words, which were caught by the breeze and flung into the air where no one but the birds could hear them.  
  
"Goodbye, Kurt. Don't forget me."  
  
*******************  
  
The Rogue stalked through the undergrowth, a growl bubbling deep in her throat. She sounded so much like a savage animal that several woodland creatures retreated down their burrows at her approach, leaving the way clear for her to stalk through.   
  
She was aware that she should be covering her trail, and that the path of broken foliage she was leaving in her wake would be easy enough for a baby to follow. But her exchange with the Powers That Be had left her feeling disgruntled and cheated. She'd gone to a seer against her better judgement and this was what she got in return? Usually she didn't trust such people, believing their practices to be, as she put it, 'a load of mumbo-jumbo'. It seemed that now she'd been proved right. Only somehow, this information didn't improve her mood any.  
  
The girl paused a second to collect her thoughts. Bad humour was no reason to go forgetting all her training. She was being stupid, and letting her emotions take over. Just like she'd done the last time, and look how that had turned out....  
  
A surge of anger welled within her breast at the memory, and she only she stopped herself from hacking at the nearest available object with her sword. It was only her inner voice that halted her errant movements. That sane, sensible voice which had followed her all her life, guiding and directing her skills so that she might better master them in a shorter amount of time. It wasn't a conscience; she doubted she had one of those. No, this was something different. Her own personal equivalent, only without the cumbersome morals and ethics to hamper it. Now it activated itself in her psyche, telling her to calm down and get a grip of herself before she blew everything. The auburn haired girl released her grip on her sword-hilt and took several deep breaths. She drew upon her warrior's schooling, and at last found her still point, just as she'd been taught to do. Her face instantly became a mask of indifference, whilst her mind became clear as ice.  
  
She continued on her way, silent as a shadow. Rabbits grazed harmlessly as she passed, unaware of the death incarnate only metres away. She was as the wind; present, but unseen. A flickering darkness, half perceived and then gone. Yes, this was much better then allowing her precision to become disrupted by messy emotions. She preferred things this way. Clear-cut and clinical. Her elegant strides ate up the ground at an astronomical rate, and soon she was deep in the heart of the Black Forest.  
  
She'd been travelling for about an hour when she first heard it. A faint swish, like the beating wings of a flock of startled pigeons. Any other person would have dismissed it, but not she. Her training and profession would not allow it. It was her business - no, her very nature to notice danger signals, no matter how slight or insignificant to the rest of the world. These skills had saved her life on an exponential number of occasions, and had successfully ended the lives of many others.  
  
Right now, her senses were screaming at her.   
  
Danger. Danger. Danger.   
  
She froze. Even her cloak seemed to wilfully cease it's swishing, and a deathly hush descended on the scene. For several minutes nothing moved. The forest remained still as a graveyard, and half as lively. The Rogue regulated her breathing, as she was apt to do, so that not even the rise and fall of her slender chest beneath the folds of black fabric could give her away.  
  
Eventually, the silence was broken. An inconsequential mouse, nostril's quivering with the blatant mistrust of its kind, poked its nose out of its bolthole. It sniffed. Once. Twice. Three times. Before tentatively pushing the rest of its head out, and then its body. It crept forward, inch by painful inch, knowing that if its judgement were misplaced it would mean death. There are no such things as second chances in nature. The mouse scurried further forward. Then, with a burst of speed, grabbed at some indistinguishable rodent-delicacy from the woodland floor, and darted back into its tunnel labyrinth.  
  
As if on a timer, the rest of the forest suddenly came back to life. Birds called to each other through the trees, rabbits nibbled docilely on clover here and there, and various types of rodent hurried hither and thither collecting food and scuffling between themselves.  
  
The Rogue waited longer than the rest of nature until she moved again. When she did deem it time, she unfolded herself from the shadows and wrapped the cloak about her before carrying on. She'd wasted precious time here, and couldn't afford to wait any longer lest They came and found her. She wasn't ready for them yet. Soon, but not yet.  
  
She'd taken but three steps when the forest roof above her seemed to explode, raining down debris and broken foliage in a thunderstorm of green, brown and.... blue?  
  
In one fluid movement, she'd drawn her sword, settled into a fighting stance and was awaiting the first move. Her sharp eyes made out the form of a person amongst the falling fragments of leaves. He or she was crouching, as if injured on the ground. A lesser, more compassionate person may have assumed this person had fallen and hurt him or herself. But not The Rogue. She saw only a potential threat and treated it as such.   
  
She took a tentative step forward. The body was covered in green wreckage, partly obscuring it from view. She thought she could see peasant's clothing, and lightly touched it with the toe of her boot.  
  
At once the 'body' sprang up, emitting a high-pitched cry. The Rogue reacted by expertly plunging her blade forward, and would have impaled the person.... except that there was nobody there. She blinked, the only indication of her surprise. There had definitely been somebody there a moment ago, and she scanned the surrounding terrain for any signs of this wayward individual.  
  
"Missed me, Frauline!"  
  
The voice came from above, and she tilted her head to stare up into a pair of merry golden eyes. Her lip half-curled into a sneer. It was the non-demon from the seer's place. He must have followed her. Deftly, she wrenched her sword from where it had buried itself into the ground, twisting it in one hand whilst using the other one to remove a smaller knife from the opposite side of her belt. In a single graceful action, she launched this up into the branches where the blue elf crouched laughing. Her aim was true, and would have struck his heart, had it not been for the unbelievable swiftness with which he moved. In the space of a few seconds, he'd vanished from his perch, only to reappear in a tree behind her. She spun round at his voice.  
  
"And again. You're a little slow today, I think. Care to try again?"  
  
The Rogue growled. What did he want? He didn't want to attack her, it seemed. He'd had plenty of opportunities, and gained many advantages over her, but had yet to strike a blow.   
  
The odd creature stood up on his branch and leaned nonchalantly against the tree trunk. He folded his indigo arms, a veritable picture of calm and serenity. When he spoke again, she could hear the barely retained giggling tincturing his tone, and repressed a sneer at his.... ghastly immaturity.  
  
"I would like to speak mit you, Frauline."  
  
The Rogue gripped her sword tighter. Talking wasn't her way. She preferred things to be done quickly. Efficiently. She had no time for chitchat, and stayed silent, her facial expression inscrutable. Apparently, the elf took her silence for agreement, and carried on talking in that nauseatingly husky voice of his.  
  
"You're The Rogue of The Guild of Assassins, aren't you?" Still silence. "Well Frauline, I have a proposition for you."  
  
"I don't deal with elves." She spat.   
  
"Oh, ha, ha. Very funny, meine Freundin." He laughed. She very nearly hurled her sword up at him too.   
  
"Look, fuzzy. I'm in a hurry, so if you don't have anything worthwhile to say, then I'm leaving. I'm very grateful to your Mom and all, but our business is done. I paid mah dues, and I would suggest you go now, 'afore I get to thinking about getting me a new blue fur cloak!"  
  
She turned and made to leave, keeping her blade drawn just in case he *did* decide to become hostile. Just let him try to get the drop on her.  
  
"Kann ich mit euch mitkommen?"  
  
She whirled around, but he wasn't where he'd previously been in his tree.  
  
"What!?"  
  
"Ahem." The cough came from behind her again, and she swivelled her body around to see the non-demon draped across the original branch she'd spotted him on. In his three-fingered hands he was toying with the knife she'd thrown at him. Evidently, he'd had time to change position, find the knife and arrange himself in the tree before she'd even finished yelling. She cursed him vehemently under her breath.  
  
The elf smiled benevolently. Mistaking her exclamation for not understanding him, he switched to Common and repeated himself.  
  
"Can I come with you?"  
  
"What kind of a question is that?" She demanded.  
  
"A valid one." The thing replied. "I want to travel with you. Kann ich?"  
  
The Rogue snorted with ill-concealed disgust. "No!"  
  
His face fell. He looked like a child deprived of its favourite toy. "Warum?"  
  
"Look, kid, I dunno what you hope to gain by trying mind games with me, but they won't work. I've had much worse then some Kaju in a fur-coat asking stupid questions before."  
  
"Oh, no, Frauline." He shook his head. "This is no mind game. I'm serious. I wish to travel with you, and I fail to see the problem with that."  
  
She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're really serious, aren't you?"  
  
"Deadly." He answered, and then giggled at his choice of words. "So, does that mean I can?"  
  
"Did I say it did? That answer's still no. Go home to Mommy, fuzz-butt."  
  
"Can't. She sent me." He balanced the knife by its tip on the end of one chunky finger. The finely honed blade failed to even make a scratch on him.  
  
The Rogue was surprised, despite herself. "She *sent* you? After she knew who I was?"  
  
"Ja." He flipped the weapon, catching it deftly by its hilt in one hand and thrusting it at an invisible enemy in the air. His technique was terrible, but she had to admit, there was certainly potential in the way her handled a blade. Clinical she may be, but she could admire talent when she saw it.  
  
She shook her head. Now was not the time to be talent spotting! Besides, what good would it do? She couldn't exactly recruit anyone into the Guild anymore, especially not a blue hairy *thing* who had less common sense than a loaf of stale bread.  
  
The *thing* in question peered down at her. A grin split his waiflike face, stretching almost from ear to pointy ear, and he shouted; "Catch!" before flinging the knife down at her.  
  
His aim wasn't perhaps as good as hers, but there was definitely power behind his throw. He was no match for The Rogue, though. Years of ruthless training and lethal work had groomed her skills to near-perfection, and she had only to stretch out one arm and catch the hurtling blade's hilt between her fingers as it cleaved through the air, swinging her arm around to jam it back into its mini-scabbard without ever moving her feet.   
  
The Seer's son clapped his odd hands. "Bravo, Frauline, bravo. Perhaps you can teach me that trick sometime?"  
  
"I'd sooner cut your throat out then teach you, elf." She snarled. " Fighting isn't about *tricks*, it's about staying alive and making sure your opponent doesn't. And you're a damn fool if you ever think otherwise. Now leave me alone and run along home. I'm busy."  
  
But it seemed that, whatever gifts life had bestowed upon the elf, the ability to take a hint wasn't one of them. He staunchly refused to depart, and doggedly followed the cloaked girl as she continued on her way, raining down a hailstorm of questions and senseless remarks as he went, safe in the knowledge that she couldn't get to him as long as he stayed in the treetops.  
  
The Rogue tried her best to ignore him, but it's very difficult to ignore someone who constantly insists on jumping in from of you, and then springing away before you could get a good strike in. She found herself keeping her sword constantly in hand, hoping for an opportunity to shut that gaping mouth. But that opportunity never presented itself, and his questions seeped into her ears until, eventually, she could no longer disregard them.  
  
"Where are you going?" He asked at last, hanging by his tail from a nearby low branch. He'd started to get a little cocky at his own swiftness as they travelled, and often hung mere inches off the ground, confident he could get away before his irate companion was able to strike at him.  
  
The Rogue, who was several feet in front, kept on walking, but graced him with twist of her head and a rarely given answer.  
  
"If I tell you, will you shut up?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
"I'm going to Zanninsa."  
  
"Ich komme mit dir mit."  
  
In a flash, she'd turned and barrelled into him where he dangled, tearing his tail from its purchase and pinning him on his back in the fallen leaves. Her dagger was at his throat before he even saw her reach into her boot for it. Its blade was smaller then the others she'd used so far, sharper too, and she held it close to his skin.  
  
"You. Are. Not. Coming. With. Me." She growled.  
  
Kurt gulped, his Adam's-apple bobbing dangerously close to the keen blade.  
  
"OK. Maybe I'm not."  
  
The Rogue stared down at him. So helpless. Where was all his big talk and infuriating callisthenics now? He was at her mercy, totally. She had only to move the dagger a hairsbreadth and she would prick the great vein and release his life. She could see it beneath his downy fur, pulsing with lifeblood. The power she held over him was intoxicating, like some heady drug. Yet she retained her calm clarity. This mastery over another's essence was a dish best eaten with a clear mind. To give in to emotion was to become the one mastered.  
  
This sensible thought gave rise to another. Her calculating brain took heed of it, and - much to Kurt's surprise - she abruptly sheathed her blade and stood up. With no more then a casual brush of her cloak, she turned on her heel and stalked away from where he still lay in the dust. He scrambled to his oddly shaped feet and took a standing leap into the nearest tree, anxious not to be in range should the perplexing female decide that she did actually wish to kill him.  
  
Once more he was confused. Why had she let him go? Not that he was complaining, he'd been an easy target and she'd obviously wanted to finish him off. He'd seen it in her eyes. Those twin pools of liquid fire inside her deep hood, burning with the same bloodlust as the puma from long ago, but mixed with a shrewd human coldness that sent shivers convulsing down his spine to the tip of his tail. The eyes of a true killer.  
  
However, despite that frighteningly eerie fire, he found himself continuing to follow her. His curiosity was already forgetting how close to death he'd come on the tip of her dagger, and he bounded gracefully through the trees after her swiftly moving form - albeit at a safer distance than before.  
  
The Rogue heard him coming, and snarled low in her gullet. Didn't that freak know how to take a hint? A flash of blue caught her attention, above and to her right, moving speedily through the tallest branches. He was being careless as he tried to catch up to her. He was open and vulnerable, not looking for danger and an easy target for a well-thrown knife, she was sure. She half considered killing him on the spot. It would be so easy. That soft indigo fur offered no protection. One quick slice and it would all be over. She even got so far as curling her fingers around the hilt of the small knife in her belt under her cloak. But then she stopped.   
  
No, this journey called for an altogether more secret approach. As satisfying it would have been, leaving a body in the woods - especially one so noticeable as the elf's - would be like setting up a complimentary signpost for Them. Showing Them exactly where she'd gone. Her training called for the burial of all incriminating evidence, but she had no time. Plus, They had received the same schooling as she, and would be on the look out for any such marks.   
  
An old Gehín saying popped into her head, and she muttered it under her breath to remind her why she was leaving the fuzzy irritant alive.  
  
"Aeth thiwnha no Heptbin dekiru henka om khra Niphineb."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
His voice. Filtering through the branches. So grating. Please, just one quick stab?  
  
No, the sane almost-conscience replied. Maybe later, but not now. You have too much to lose now. Too much at stake.  
  
"Aeth thiwnha no Heptbin dekiru henka om khra Niphineb."  
  
Kurt scurried, squirrel-like, across a slender branch that bowed under his weight. Before it could snap, he jumped from it to land safely in the next tree. He cast a wary glance down at The Rogue. She was muttering something, and his heightened senses could hear her perfectly, but it was in no language he recognised. Abruptly he remembered what his mother had told him just before he left. She'd said that the official tongue of the Guild of Assassins was Gehín. It wasn't difficult to guess that these were the strange words the hooded girl below him was muttering.  
  
He thought of his mother. How was she doing? Was she going to be OK on her own? He'd never been away from home like this before, nor gone so far into this particular part of the Black Forest. His imagination began to recount the stories he'd heard about this place, constructing them into hideous pictures in his mind. He shook his head, nearly missing a foothold as he did so.   
  
Whoops! He was worrying too much. It was affecting his judgement. In an effort to distract his mind from the horrible images playing across it, he tried once more to initiate a dialogue with The Rogue.  
  
"The city of Zanninsa? That's on the other side of the Black Forest isn't it, Frauline?"   
  
"Shut up, elf. You're not going with me. I travel alone. There's no room for you on this trip."  
  
"It's a free forest, I can go wherever I please, danke. Maybe I was planning my own trip there, and I just happened to be on the same road. The world doesn't revolve around you, meine Freundin."  
  
She only grunted in return. He was insufferable, but perhaps this was for the best. At least this way They wouldn't catch him and torture her destination out of him. She knew They'd find her eventually - They always did - but maybe this would buy her a little time. Besides, there many more places to stash a body in a city and have it go unnoticed then in a forest.  
  
Kurt watched her. Silence stretched between them. He cleared his throat.  
  
"So what's so interesting in Zanninsa?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Frauline?"  
  
Nothing.  
  
"Ach, you sure are a fountain of conversation!"  
  
A few more moments passed in strained quiescence. Kurt's brain filled almost to bursting point with images of dancing troll circles, or horrifying lizards as tall as a man with needle-like teeth and cavernous jaws. Fairytale monsters that seemed so much more real when thought about in this dark, creepy part of the forest.  
  
Too late, he noticed that the unfocused leap he'd just made was going to fall short. The branch he'd been aiming for hovered tantalisingly out of his reach, and he brushed it with his furry fingertips before falling like a stone. His body crashed through the leafy boughs, twigs jabbing him as he plummeted past, or else breaking off and falling with him. He turned over in mid-air and reached out, trying to gain a hold on something, anything! But he couldn't, and landed with a heavy thump on the ground.  
  
His natural instinct was to immediately right himself, but as he struggled to stand up the figure of The Rogue loomed up over him and he found her sword tip resting against his throat. A yelp of fright escaped his mouth. This was it; she was going to finish what she'd started earlier.   
  
But instead of driving her weapon into his yielding flesh, The Rogue held a finger to her mouth in a gesture for quiet. He froze. The way she moved betrayed something to his expert eyes that made him think her action was not due to maliciousness. A certain wariness. Suspicion, almost. She turned her head away, as if listening to something. Kurt too strained his pointed ears, exerting them to hear what she heard.  
  
A deep rumbling permeated the air. It sounded foreign, and yet familiar. Almost like breathing, and yet not like breathing at all. It was too low, too resonant for any animal he could think of.  
  
The Rogue's blade quivered. She recognised that sound. A cold knot of dread manifested itself in her stomach, and she carefully took a step backwards, away from the direction it was coming from. The elf looked bewildered. He didn't understand, didn't know what the noise of his descent had attracted the attention of. Oh, damn him. Damn him down to the end of his blue fuzzy tail! Her deadpan expression never wavered, but she continued to take step after chary step backwards.  
  
The trees to their right rustled, swishing back and forth with no help from the wind. Kurt stared at them, wondering what was going on. Abruptly, his queries were answered.  
  
A repulsive head thrust through the tree trunks. Almost feline in appearance, yet huge beyond belief, it eyed the two figures through luminous yellow eyes. A second head appeared next to it, this one resembling a goat, or some other such horned livestock. It bleated, a mutilated sound coming from its fang-filled maw. A third head butted its way into view on the other side of the feline one. This head looked like nothing Kurt had ever come across in his short lifetime. With its massive scaly snout, wicked teeth and blazing red eyelets, he was reminded of a picture book he'd once 'borrowed' off the child of a merchant who'd come to see Mystique when he was five. The dragon's head was twice as ugly and a thousand times more fearsome in reality then any artist could depict it in a book, and all the fur on his back bristled at the sight of it.   
  
The three heads each fixed their pupils on he and The Rogue. For a moment nothing moved. Then, almost languidly, a mammoth paw - easily the size of Kurt's head - pushed through the bending trunks to be placed on the ground only metres away from his feet. Another joined it, unsheathing five sharp claws as it did so. Once this too was in place, the body they were attached to heaved itself into view.  
  
Kurt gaped at it. The trio of heads were all attached to the same body! Their three separate necks joined together at the base, leading onto a wide chest covered in a mottled mixture of brown fur and greyish scales. Cresting their shared back rose a pair of wings, pathetically small for such a large frame, and covered in a thin grey membrane latticed with nauseatingly visible veins and arteries. The hind legs, he could see, were absurdly slight and cloven, and he wondered how such thin limbs could support such a massive frame.  
  
Three different noses snuffled the air, tasting the scent of the duo before them. A globule of saliva oozed from the lower jaw of the felinehead - which looked a lot like the lion inscribed on the back of every golden Lione in the land, only without the magnificent mane it wore so well - to splatter noisily on the woodland floor, covering everything around it in thick greenish spit. A resonant rumble started up from the throat of the dragonhead. It was actually growling at them.  
  
Kurt swivelled his face to look at The Rogue. She stood a few feet away, sword drawn, but making no endeavour to use it. Surely she would know what this beast was. He swallowed. Suddenly his throat was incredibly dry, and when he spoke his voice was raspy with fear. A million questions swirled inside his brain, but only one made it to his tongue.  
  
"What do we do now, Frauline?"  
  
She took another step back, staring at the scaly hide which had never been to known to be successfully pierced by a mortal blade, at the smoke beginning to waft up from the dragonhead's twitching nostrils, at the wings which were flexing, ready for airborne pursuit of the meal it had found.  
  
The dragonhead opened its mouth. A small ball of churning flames appeared at the back of its throat, growing larger with every passing second.  
  
The indifferent expression on her face remained rigid, but her voice rose to an urgent shout.  
  
"Run!"  
  
*******************  
  
To Be Continued....  
  
*******************  
  
TRANSLATIONS:  
  
*GERMANIC*:  
'Kann ich mit euch mitkommen?' ~ Can I come along with you?  
'Warum?' ~ Why?  
'Ich komme mit dir mit.' ~ I'll come with you.  
  
*GEHIN*  
'Kaju!' ~ Fool! (This is only a rough translation into Common Tongue. To an assassin the actual meaning is much worse, as Mystique indicated.)  
'Aeth thiwnha no Heptbin dekiru henka om khra Niphineb.' ~ The silence of the dead can become a wild chorus. 


	4. Aberration

DISCLAIMER: X-Men:Evo belongs to Warner Bros. And Marvel Comics. I have never, and shall never own them, no matter how much I may want to. I've simply warped them to fit my own twisted mind. However, this fic and any original work herein is officially mine, and anyone trying to steal it will find out how painful a weapon a computer mouse can when used by someone with imagination.  
  
WARNINGS: This is an AU (Alternative Universe) fic. Everything has been transplanted into a fantasy universe of my creation. Inspirations, despite what you might initially think, aren't actually from a certain Peter-Jackson-esque film, since I started work on this before I ever *saw* that movie. Influences rather include Internutter's spiffy fic 'Mein Teuful' (if you haven't yet read this then go do it *now*!) and various other sources I'll explain later.  
  
CODES:   
Hello = Narration  
~ Hello ~ = Thought  
"Hello" = Character Speaking  
*Hello* = Bold  
//Hello// = Psychic communication  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanx to everyone who's reviewed so far. The response thus far has been much more than I even hoped for. ^_^ I'm sorry I couldn't get this installment up sooner. My computer was acting up again. Go figure. Btw, if anyone wants a picture of the creature chasing Rogue and Kurt, go to http://www.poolofradience.com/thirded and click on the chimera icon. This is where I got my inspiration for it.   
  
'Crash', the Tolkien reference was only a nod at the original fantasy quest epic structure. I never meant to insinuate that my fic was in the same vein as TLoTR. Plus, Rogue is from The Guild of *Assassins*, not Thieves. This kind of couple-related assumption makes me a bit annoyed, too. I never even mentioned hooking Rogue up with anyone, but as soon as the word 'Guild' is mentioned people immediately dismiss it as just another 'Remy/Rogue'. Wait a little, dear readers, and all will be revealed. And perhaps I'll surprise you all. I enjoy rocking the boat a little.  
  
Rant over, on with the fic.  
  
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'Of Beast And Blade' By Scribbler  
Chapter Two ~ 'Aberration'  
  
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'The race of mankind would perish did they cease to aid each other. We cannot exist without mutual help. All therefore that need aid have a right to ask it from their fellow-men; and no one who has the power of granting can refuse it without guilt.' -- Walter Scott  
  
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The ball of flames exploded above his head. Kurt felt his fur singe as sparks rained down on him, and doubled his pace to escape being burned more. Behind him lumbered the snarling three-headed beast sprung straight from a nightmare. In front, the retreating form of The Rogue, feet pounding the ground, cloak flying out behind her as she ran.  
  
Considering its immense size, coupled with its cumbersome and bulky shape, the snarling creature moved incredibly fast. It was all Kurt could do to stay ahead of the thing on the ground. The idea of slowing down to climb up a tree was unthinkable. He ran on all fours, yet was still hard pushed to remain ahead of those three sets of snapping jaws.  
  
Catching up to The Rogue was easy enough; after all, she could only run on two legs. He fell in beside her, limbs going like pistons as they dodged this way and that through the trees, trying to shake off their bizarre pursuer.  
  
"Was ist dass? I mean, what is that thing?" He panted.  
  
"A chimera." She replied, not breaking her stride. They swerved left, and then banked a hard right around a pile of large boulders covered in lichen.  
  
"A chimera?" Kurt repeated, struggling slightly with the Common word. "But I thought they were just a legend."  
  
"Try telling that to *him*." She returned.  
  
Kurt turned his head to see the trio of grotesque heads crash through the trees behind them. The dragonhead leaned forward, opening its maw. A flurry of yellowish fire bubbled in the back of its gullet, and then shot forward as a ball of burning flame. The blue-furred boy only just had time to dive forward onto the floor as it skimmed overhead, brushing the tips of his ears and causing him considerable pain as it passed - although a lot less then it would have done had it hit him. Instead it carried on past, blowing up on impact with the boulders and smothering the surrounding area with chunks of exploded rock.  
  
Kurt picked himself up off the floor and stared around.  
  
"Frauline?" He called. "Rogue?"   
  
She was nowhere to be seen. Kurt remembered seeing her slightly behind him just before the fireball was fired. She'd been right in its path. Surely she hadn't....  
  
A roar cut off his train of thought, as the chimera loomed up behind him, spittle dripping from each of its yawning mouths. Kurt emitted a strangled yelp, before turning swiftly and leaping into some nearby bushes in an effort to escape.  
  
Kurt ran for his life. He was under no preconceptions that if the chimera caught him, it would kill him. The creature was famed for its lack of both sentience and compassion. A snarling, dumb beast devoid of speech but possessing more than its fair share of savagery. Until now he'd dismissed it as only a myth. What a way to be proved wrong, he thought grimly.  
  
There was a crash as the chimera plunged through the undergrowth after him. Fear lent wings to his feet and hands, propelling him onward. Wildlife fled at their approach, and Kurt blew past, oblivious as to where he was or where he was going. The only thing he could think of was getting away from the disfigured creature chasing him as fast as he could.  
  
The chimera, however, had other ideas.  
  
It watched the retreating morsel through three sets of eyes, but saw it with only one collective consciousness. To a more judicious beast, tearing up the forest this way was pointless for such a pitiful scrap of meat. There were plenty of other, less troublesome pieces of prey around. But to the slavering chimera's smaller-than-average brain it was worth it. It didn't recognise the blue furry creature it pursued, any more than it had recognised the other one, which now seemed to have disappeared. But something buried deep inside it told it that this was a palatable delicacy, and well worth the chase for the feel of his bones crunching between its teeth, and the taste of his hot blood running down its throats. Some memory, passed down the generations from its distant ancestors, who had eaten the first humanoids over a millennia ago in the verdant forests of what was then a new world. Just the notion of tasting the same flesh, which had delighted those first monsters, was enough to drive the chimera into a frenzy. Bloodlust gave it both strength and speed, and it thundered on through the trees, heedless of the destruction it wreaked.   
  
Kurt was tiring. He wasn't built for maintaining such high speeds for so long. His muscles ached and protested at being overworked, but still he forced them forwards.   
  
Have to keep going. Can't stop. It'll get me if I stop.  
  
Yet in spite of his best efforts, the chimera was gaining on him. He swerved left, disappearing through a mass of bracken, to emerge on the other side covered in spider webs and other various insects. He spat the silky threads from his mouth, and brushed them out of his golden eyes. He didn't recognise this territory at all. How was he supposed to lose that thing when he was lost himself?  
  
He ran forward on two legs, stumbled and fell. The ground vibrated as the chimera approached, and he crawled on his hands and knees through the scrub. A hollow roar echoed across the entire Black Forest, as the hideous creature scented its prey and pushed through the bushes after it. Kurt's sensitive ears were blistered where they'd been burned, and all his joints and muscles screamed with exhaustion.   
  
A huge tree-trunk leg appeared behind him, followed by the questing goathead. It gave a marred bleat, which sounded more like a dying squeal, as it spotted Kurt desperately crawling away. At once the other two heads appeared, drooling copiously, and eying him with greedy delight.  
  
Kurt struggled to get to his feet, but his limbs weren't his own any more, and he stumbled. A small sharp stone drove itself into his palm, making him wince and leaving a streak of red on the ground. He bit his lip against the pain, and clenched his fist to staunch the blood.   
  
The ground trembled as the chimera approached. The furry boy urgently scrambled away from it, trying not to put too much pressure on his injured hand. He crawled as fast as he could, but uttered a squeak of alarm as the ground beneath him very suddenly, and very unexpectedly, began to crumble away. Huge clumps of dried soil, powdery and unstable after the long hot Summer, came away under his weight, tumbling down a steep slope revealed below.   
  
Kurt peered through a hole that had just grown in the forest floor underneath his knee. He found himself staring down into a huge quarry, long since abandoned by those who created it, and with sides worn smooth from years of weathering. The patch of ground he knelt on was actually merely an overhang where the earth beneath it had been scooped out. Kurt gazed down into the concave. It was at least a sixty-foot drop, followed by a mass of curved packed hard until it was as smooth and impenetrable as solid stone, and formed into a roughly curved shape.  
  
An ear-splitting roar rent the air, then stopped. Kurt's heart pounded in his thin chest, and he could hear his breathing for the first time in many minutes, harsh and ragged.   
  
What had happened? Why had the chimera fallen silent?  
  
Tentatively, he turned his head to see behind him. The chimera was bent over something on the ground, sniffing intently at it. All three faces were focused on what they had found, and seemed completely oblivious to him. Briefly, he wondered what it was that held their attention so, but he was more concerned with taking advantage of it to escape. Carefully, and as silently as he could manage on his shaking limbs, he got to his feet, and was just about to creep away when he saw what it was that held the creature fast.  
  
A small sharp stone, splattered in red liquid. Blood.  
  
His blood.  
  
The dragonhead leaned forward until its snout almost touched the ground. Slowly, and with incongruous grace, it parted its vast jaws and a red tongue covered in pulsing bumps and spikes slid out. It tasted the crimson fluid, eyes widening as the unique flavour spread across its palate. Unique and full of promise. The taste of prey-flesh.   
  
Kurt stumbled back as, quicker than he'd thought possible, the chimera whirled round and lunged at him. He smelt the hot stink of its breath in his face, and gazed into its gaping mouths as they descended upon him like a bolt of living death.  
  
But they never reached their mark, for at that moment the ground collapsed. Weakened by years of erosion, the overhang wasn't strong enough to withstand the combined weight of both the boy and the monster, and with a sickening crunch it gave way, leaving them to fall into the quarry below.  
  
Down they plummeted, accompanied only by soil and debris. It was a sheer drop, and they struck the curve hard, rolling over and over, a flailing mass of fire and blue fur. Kurt tried valiantly to stay away from the thrashing chimera, but a flying hoof caught him in the chest, driving all the air from his lungs and rendering him winded and gasping in the dirt.  
  
They eventually rolled to a halt several hundred feet away from where they'd started. Only Kurt's amazing agility had saved him from sustaining any fatal injuries, but he lay prone, unable to move for want of a little life-giving oxygen. The chimera, squealing horribly, clambered to its feet, revealing one of its huge front paws dragging limp and useless as it tried to walk. It was obviously broken, and left a groove in the powdery fallen soil.  
  
Kurt could only watch impotently as the beast cast about it in confusion. He prayed it wouldn't see him. That the hewn rocks around would shield his body until he had enough breath to flee.  
  
But his prayers were in vain. The lionhead's slit eyes fell upon him, and it emitted a yowling cry before starting forward, injuries forgotten in the face of devouring him. Kurt squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't move. This was it. He was going to die, torn apart by those monstrous teeth and swallowed piece by piece. In his final moments an image of his mother flashed through his mind, and all he could think of was how lonely she'd be when he didn't return from his 'adventure'.  
  
The acrid stench of the chimera's breath filled his nostrils, and he waited for one of the mouths to clamp down around his skull, crushing it like an eggshell.  
  
I'm sorry, mother.  
  
"Yaaaaaaah!"  
  
What was that?  
  
The chimera screamed. A mind-blowing screech of pain.  
  
"Move, elf!"  
  
Kurt's eyelids snapped open, and he saw the chimera raised up on its hind legs, every mouth squealing in agony. Clinging precariously to it back he saw a cloaked figure, hood pulled back and hair flying as she endeavoured to keep from falling. Her sword protruded from the back of the lionhead's neck, black blood oozing around the blade.  
  
Body baulking violently, the blue-furred boy heaved himself onto his feet, gripping a nearby rock for support. The Rogue wrenched her sword free, eliciting another anguished screech from the creature. With infallible polish she leaped from its back and hit the ground at a run.   
  
And run she did. She blew past Kurt, grabbing his arm and pulling him along behind her. He yelled in pain, but followed her unquestioningly. She'd just saved his life after all.  
  
The pair fled, kicking up a dust cloud with their heels from the sandstone quarry. In what seemed like no time at all, an angry roar perforated the air. The chimera was giving chase.  
  
The Rogue chanced a glance over her shoulder. The middle head hung lifelessly between the other two, dripping pitch ooze as it cantered along. The goathead bleated, and the dragonhead opened its jaws to release another deadly fireball. The Rogue swerved left, yanking Kurt excruciatingly with her, and resumed looking ahead.  
  
Further on she could see the edge of the quarry walls. Vertical, and sharply cut. She aimed for them, hoping there was some kind of shelter beyond. They couldn't last much longer this way. A more permanent solution was called for, although she had no idea as to what this might be at present. Just get to the wall, her almost-conscience told her. Think about this after.  
  
They sprinted for their lives, dodging fireballs and trying to stay ahead of the injured and maddened beast. The Rogue knew her blow wouldn't have killed that thing. As long as even one of the three heads remained then it would survive. To tell the truth, she'd been surprised that her sword had pierced its hide. Perhaps the legends weren't completely accurate after all and it *was* possible to slay a chimera by mortal means.  
  
Only a few feet left now. Run, run! Faster, faster! The elf's panting sounded loudly in her ears, and her own heart thundered against her ribcage. Five feet. Four. Three. Two. One. They rounded the bend to see....  
  
A house.  
  
She almost faltered. But no, it really *was* a house. Out here in the middle of nowhere, and clearly inhabited by someone. As they neared it she could see a figure standing outside, digging in some kind of vegetable patch. The person looked up at their approach, eyes widening at the duo rushing towards him or her.  
  
The Rogue didn't even have time to shout out a warning before a fireball exploded at her feet, sending both she and the elf flying into the air to land in a heap several metres away. She kicked violently at him to get off her, her foot connecting solidly with the palm of his hand. A shower of crimson droplets sprayed over her boot, staining the sparse grass beneath them an ugly colour. But The Rogue broke free of him regardless, only to see the chimera hove into view around the side of the quarry wall.  
  
It lumbered forward, two of the three faces screaming. The girl felt her blood run cold, and roughly dragged the elf to his feet before turning and running again. There was nowhere to go except past that curious house or back to the quarry. She sped on, mouth set in a grim line. She wouldn't let herself be killed by some fairytale-reject.   
  
The figure outside the house dropped its spade, hands flying to its mouth in a silent scream. As they neared, The Rogue could see that it was a girl, slightly younger then herself, and wearing typical female peasant clothing of undyed woollen skirts and a smudgy pinafore.  
  
The Rogue yelled, "Run!" but the girl was already running.... back into the house! If she'd had time, The Rogue would have rolled her eyes in disgust at this cowardly and stupid action. That girl was going to be cornered, for the chimera had seen her go into the dwelling. Of all the idiotic....  
  
A hacking roar interrupted her train of thought. The chimera could see its prey escaping, and this, coupled with the intense pain from its fallen head, injected a new burst of speed into its stride. It leaped for them, flying through the air with claws outstretched.  
  
They were nearly at the house. The Rogue gripped the elf by the scruff of his neck and forcefully dove aside. The howling chimera sailed on overhead, missing them completely and instead striking the side of the crude building. There was a crash, followed by a humanoid scream. Female. That girl. The Rogue lifted her head. The chimera had smashed down part of the wall, exposing the innards of the house and its screaming occupant. The girl retreated further inside the building, but the chimera - deprived of its initial prey - forced its way after her, breaking beams and wooden floorboards as it progressed.  
  
Kurt heard the scream through a fuggy haze. It sounded familiar somehow, like the voice of someone he knew. It was distorted slightly by the haze clogging his brain, but his subconscious made the connection where his conscious could not. Images of blue skin and the heavy smell of incense permeated him, and he raised his head to see a feminine figure retreat into a half-destroyed wooden house, chased by the snarling chimera.  
  
Without really thinking what he was doing, Kurt scrambled to his aching feet and stumbled forwards. He heard a voice calling him back, but paid it no heed, not stopping until he was at the gaping hole into the building. The chimera's rear end poked out of the hole, lion's tail lashing. It's considerable bulk almost completely filled the aperture, but there was a small opening between its legs where the useless forepaw hung freely. Kurt crouched onto all fours and crawled through this, rolling aside to avoid the two sets of snapping jaws beyond.  
  
He was in a smallish room, made smaller by the growling chimera. It stood halfway into the room, edging towards where a small figure crouched against the opposite wall. He dashed across to where this figure sat, knees clasped against its chest and forehead pressed against its knees, trembling with fear. It was female alright, but something was wrong. This wasn't the blue-skinned one he sought. She was different. Alien.  
  
He reached her side, and her head abruptly jerked up. Kurt stared into two grey-green eyes set in ivory skin, cheeks stained with dirt and tears. She gazed back at him, horror etched into her pretty features. Before he could stop her she was crawling away on her backside, screaming afresh.  
  
"No! Keep away from me, you monster!"  
  
Monster? Him? Kurt blinked, nonplussed. Why was she scared of him?   
  
The girl stared at him, wide-eyed, face filled with unbridled terror. Kurt looked at her, and was suddenly overcome by an inexorable need to comfort and protect. So what if this one wasn't the blue-skinned one he was searching for? She still needed help. He reached out, but she scudded further away.  
  
The goathead gave a bleat as it pounced, stretching its neck as far as it could go. Its dripping fangs came within mere inches of the girl's back, but Kurt too dived forward, wrenching her out of reach. He clasped her body to his own and shrank back against the wall, feeling her shaking. One sentient thought immediately sliced through the mist clouding his brain.  
  
Run!   
  
But run where?  
  
The chimera was getting closer. There was nowhere to go. It blocked his way. There was no escape. Saliva blew into his furry face as the dragonhead opened its maw. He could see the telltale glow starting at the back of its throat. Flames began to flicker into its gullet, gathering into a small ball, then growing larger. Have to get away, but where to go? No way out. Trapped. Fire getting bigger. Must escape. Have to save the girl. Have to....  
  
The dragonhead suddenly snapped shut with a hollow clack, effectively shutting in the burning flames. Its eyes bulged, but its mouth remained closed. It was almost as if it *couldn't* open it. Kurt's gaze was caught by a brilliant burst of silver beneath.   
  
The Rogue stood, knife clasped above her in both gloved hands, impaling the head through the soft flesh just behind the chin. Black blood ran liberally down the vertical blade, and she pulled it partially free, releasing a veritable waterfall of the dark liquid. Some of it splashed her face, leaving a trail of sticky fluid. She grunted; the knife was stuck fast. The dragonhead swung back and forth in pain, wrenching it from her grasp. She'd have to leave it. She glared at Kurt and the girl still fastened protectively to his chest. Her expression was still infuriatingly indifferent, and she called above the tormented squeals of the dragonhead.  
  
"Move your ass, fuzzy!"  
  
With that, she threw herself between its legs and rolled back into the outside world.   
  
The dragonhead's lips dripped yellow flames. The fireball had grown too much to be reabsorbed, and it pushed against the living barrier imprisoning it.  
  
Kurt cast about for an escape route. He couldn't follow The Rogue because that would have meant passing the chimera, but there didn't seem to be any other way out. The girl in his arms raised her streaked face and looked at the dragonhead, whose jaws were now being visibly forced apart by the fireball, which glowed hot yellow between its teeth. Her eyes took on the appearance of two round moons.  
  
"Look out! It's gonna blow!"  
  
She pushed forward, slamming him against the wooden wall. Kurt was surprised at the unexpected move, but even more so at what happened next. An intense feeling of nothingness enveloped him, as if his spirit had been removed from his body and now floated free. The wall behind him began to fade. It was nothing but shadow - no, it was less than shadow. It was made of little more than air. He literally melted through it, emerging on the other side to land on his tail with a bump.  
  
The girl released him, and his senses returned in a dizzying swirl. Yet he had little time to reacquaint himself with them, as she picked herself up and bounded away, yelling loudly.  
  
"Run! The tank's gonna go sky high any second!"  
  
Tank? What tank? What was she talking about? And what just happened? But he took her advice anyway, struggling to his pained feet and fleeing as fast as his two legs could take him. For a short time he attempted to run on four legs, but the agony from his hand was too much to bear, and he reverted to running like a two-legger.  
  
A colossal explosion rocked the countryside. A single, huge funnel of fire filled the skyline, blasting up as far as the naked eye could see and causing a gale force wind that floored everything it touched. Kurt and the girl were blown from their feet; noses ploughing into the dust as their hair and fur were whipped into a fury by the pummelling airstream. Burning air washed over them, and pieces of miniscule debris hurtled from the sky to bury themselves in the earth with a hiss.  
  
When it was all over Kurt raised his face. The chimera was gone, as was the house. In their place stood a huge blackened crater, still smoking. Everywhere was enveloped by an evil-smelling thick mist, and he coughed as it filtered into his lungs. Silence reigned supreme; the only sound being his own raggedy breathing.  
  
No, wait. There was another sound. And movement. He heard someone groan close by, and turned to look at them.  
  
The strange girl sat up, rubbing the back of her head. Kurt could see that part of her brown hair had been singed off there, and the skin had turned an angry red. The rest of her hair wafted wispily about her face, loose and unkempt to her shoulders. She opened her eyes, peering at the crater with a mixture of disbelief and anger.  
  
"My house!" She shouted. "My *house*! You destroyed my house!"  
  
"Wie bitte?"   
  
"You filthy demon, with your filthy demon friends! You burned down my house!"   
  
"I think you'll find it was the chimera that totalled your house." The voice arrived even before The Rogue peeled herself out of the ash-mist. "And *he* tried to save you from it - fool that he is. A little more gratitude wouldn't go amiss."  
  
"Gratitude?" The girl screeched, incensed. "Gratitude? You mean I should be grateful you two burned down my home?"  
  
"It didn't burn down, it blew up." The Rogue sniffed. "If you're gonna accuse then at least do it right."  
  
"Why you - " The girl scrabbled to an upright position and took a step towards the shrouded figure. At once The Rogue's sword - still stained with rapidly crystallizing black blood - snaked out from beneath the cloak and was at her throat.  
  
"Take one more step and I'll cut out your vocal chords." She said with chilling calmness.  
  
The girl visibly gulped, eying the keen blade. "Who are you people?"  
  
"None of your business, shrimp."  
  
"Frauline, bitte. Let me talk with her." Kurt hauled himself up, swaying slightly and pausing a moment to let his head stop spinning. When he was certain the ground wouldn't give way under him he stepped forward. The girl glared at him, but there was fear in her gaze as well. It was patently clear that had The Rogue's sword not been millimetres away from her jugular she would have fled. Kurt wondered why she seemed so scared of him. After all, he wasn't the one threatening to slit her throat, and he'd tried to rescue her from the chimera.  
  
He reached out a tentative hand - the uninjured one - in a gesture of friendship. She perceptibly flinched.  
  
Realization of the reason for her demeanour struck him like a stampeding bull.  
  
His appearance.  
  
Even Kurt had to admit that upon first sight he wasn't exactly the most non-threatening looking of people. Well, he'd just have to *make* her understand that he meant her no harm.  
  
He dropped the hand to his side. "Are you afraid of me, Frauline?"  
  
She seemed surprised at his question, and didn't answer until The Rogue moved her sword a fraction as incentive, whereupon she muttered sulkily. "Yes."  
  
"Do you think of me as an evil demon?"  
  
Another sulky mutter. "Yes."  
  
"Have you ever met a demon before?"  
  
"Well.... no."  
  
"Then how can you be sure that I am one, or that all demons are evil?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Well?" The Rogue snapped.  
  
"I.... I guess I can't." The girl mumbled grudgingly.  
  
"Do I *seem* dangerous to you?"  
  
She looked at him then. I mean, really *looked* at him. That searching stare he'd experienced very few times in his life. Like someone was looking straight through him, through the fur and fangs and odd-shaped limbs to what lay beneath. Into his soul. He held stock still, afraid that if he moved he'd break her concentration and the outer shell would get in the way once more, and she'd judge him for *what* he appeared to be instead of *who* he was.  
  
Her eyes flickered back and forth, The Rogue noted. Odd, considering the elf was standing stock-still. Just what was this girl seeing the she couldn't?  
  
The girl's eyes floated up to his azure face and focused on his golden eyes. Kurt had once heard someone say that eyes are the windows into the soul, and - if possible - he froze even more, holding her gaze like a person transfixed.  
  
Eventually she stopped staring. "No. You *look* dangerous, but.... but.... I dunno. Somehow you don't *seem* it."  
  
Kurt smiled, revealing sharp white teeth. To his surprise and pleasure, she didn't react to them. There was still choler in her gaze at the loss of her home, but the hatred and fear he'd seen before were fading fast. At least, regarding him. The Rogue, however, was a different matter. It's difficult to think of someone as not dangerous when they're blatantly trying to make you believe that they are. *Especially* when they're doing it with a sword.  
  
"Bitte, Frauline. Put away your weapon. Sie ist unarmed. Ich denke sie doesn't pose a threat."  
  
"I'll be the judge of that, elf." The Rogue replied icily, but dropped the blade tip from the girl's throat. She stayed for only a moment more before sauntering away to clean the discoloured metal on a patch of meagre grass.  
  
The girl let out a relieved sigh. "Thanks."  
  
"Think nothing of it. Just be careful around her, she's.... volatile."  
  
"I'd noticed."  
  
Kurt glanced over at the crater again, and opened his mouth to ask how a simple fireball could cause so much destruction. But as he did so, a sudden wave of nausea washed over him. He abruptly became acutely aware of the pain in his hand, and clenched a fist to try and relieve it a little. It didn't help.  
  
The girl looked taken aback by the expression of pure agony that crossed his visage. She switched her gaze to where his tri-fingered hand had balled into a fist so tight it was shaking.  
  
"You're hurt." She surmised. "Here, let me take a look at that."  
  
At first he refused, and took a step backwards, but that only made the world spin. She gripped his hand and gently uncurled his fingers. Somehow, it felt good to be touched where it hurt, but at the same time a concentrated agony coursed through him like none he'd ever felt before. Surely all this pain couldn't just be coming from a cut on his hand? He felt dizzy, and fought to stay on his feet.  
  
The girl gawked at the furry boy's wound. A diagonal slash ran across his palm, originating from a deep circular puncture just below what could be considered his thumb. Blood leaked copiously from it, staining his fur crimson and dripping onto the ground with faint 'splats'. There was dirt in there, and several large pieces of grit and small pebbles. On instinct she gripped the biggest one - which seemed rather to be a fragment broken from some other bigger stone - between her thumb and forefinger and pulled. It resisted, but then slid out easily. She tossed it to the floor and then transferred her gaze back to his eyes.  
  
"Ach, much better." He murmured, before his legs gave way and he fell to his knees. The world was fading again. Vague utterances slithered into his ears like wraiths of a dream.  
  
"Hey, help! Your friend's fainted!"  
  
"Not mah friend. Not mah problem."  
  
Twittering moths. He was leaving their coveted light behind. His body keeled over of it own accord, striking the baked earth with a muted thump. So tired. So very, very tired.  
  
Then, there was only darkness.  
  
*******************  
  
Kurt swam back to consciousness to find he was lying on his back. That much he could tell with eyes still closed, plus his heightened senses - though still groggy and not quite up to scratch - told him another person was nearby. He could hear whomever it was breathing, and a chill wind ruffled his fur, also informing him that it was night and he was outside.  
  
He opened his eyes and stared into the sky. Murky blue, but not quite nighttime yet. More like late evening. He was getting slow. He should have been able to tell the difference.  
  
He rolled over onto his side, but a piercing pain lanced through his hand as he tried to lever himself up, and he rolled back again. A scuffling started up somewhere near his head at this movement, and a pale face with greenish-blue eyes hove into view above him. It was the girl whose house had been destroyed, and she wore a look of worried concern as she stared down from kneeling over him.  
  
"Hey. You awake?"  
  
Kurt's mouth was incredibly dry, but he whispered an answer nonetheless.   
  
"Nein. I always sleep mit mein eyes open."  
  
The girl seemed perplexed for a moment, and then a small smile creased her face.   
  
"Can you, like, sit up?"  
  
"I think so, but I'll need a little help."   
  
She nodded, and extended her own hand to grasp his arm and haul him into a sitting position. Kurt perceived she was painfully thin, not so much as to be skeletal, but pretty damn close. Also, he noted that her flesh was warm and soft, and most definitely solid. The pleasure he felt at having someone voluntarily touch him was tinted by confusion as to how she could be so *solid*.  
  
"Danke."  
  
"S'alright." She replied.  
  
Kurt eyed her warily. "You still mad?"  
  
She sighed, a resigned, acquiescent exhalation of breath, and averted her gaze to the floor. "A bit. But not so much as before. Getting mad at you won't bring my house back and will probably, like, shorten my life anyway."  
  
"You don't seem so scared of me anymore."  
  
"Don't fool yourself, I'm still scared. But, like I said, just not so much as before. After all, you did try to save me from that.... that thing."  
  
"Chimera." Kurt supplied.  
  
"Uh-huh. It's weird, because they never usually come so close to human habitation. They generally live deeper in the Black Forest than this. In herds too. It's kinda strange to see one on its own."  
  
"Ach, ja? Unglaublich."  
  
The girl's eyes slid over to him. "OK, you're gonna have to help me out on that one, since I speak like, zilch Germanic."  
  
Kurt blinked. "But you live in the Black Forest. How can you not speak Germanic? We're in Germania."  
  
"Yeah, but I only ever spoke Common when I was growing up."  
  
"Oh." Kurt licked his dry lips. "Well, I said 'Really? Unbelievable.' I personally thought that chimera were only a legend."  
  
"Boy, do you have a lot to learn. There are so many creatures like that out there I, like, don't even know the names to like, half of them."  
  
"Oh." That titbit of information was not something he particularly wanted to hear right now. He could think of several monsters just off the top of his head he would never, ever want to meet, and had thus far taken solace from the fact that they were only the stuff of myth and imagination. Now it seemed that illusion had been most spectacularly shattered.  
  
"Do you have a name?"  
  
The question caught him off guard. "A name? Me?"  
  
"Yeah. A name. It's not that difficult a question, is it?"  
  
"Nein, nein. Mein name ist Kurt."  
  
"Kurt." She repeated, turning it over on her tongue. "I'm Kitty. Kitty Pryde."  
  
"Nice to meet you." Kurt held out his hand to shake hers, and abruptly noticed a length of swarthy material wrapped around it, slightly stained with blood. He stared at it, and then looked at her.  
  
"You?"   
  
She nodded. "I dunno if I like, did it right or anything. But you were bleeding like, everywhere. I had to do something."  
  
"It feels good."  
  
"I cleaned it out first. That's what my Mom always used to do when I cut myself."  
  
Kurt flexed his fingers, and then winced. The pain was still excruciating when he moved the wound, and only faded to a dull ache when he keep his palm fixed in one position. His golden eyes fell upon Kitty's pinafore. The fabric was identical to that wrapped around his hand, and ragged at the bottom, as if she'd torn strips off. He raised his gaze to her face. Her hair was tied back now, covering the ugly bald patch on the crown of her skull, and held by another shred of smudgy material.  
  
"Used to do?"  
  
"My parents like, both died last year from Shaking Sickness. I never had any like, brothers or sisters." Sadness clouded her eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"S'alright. I can deal." She had a curious form of speech, which was punctured every now and then by strange use of the word 'like'. Kurt found it erratic and sometimes quite difficult to understand what she was saying. He found himself wishing her accent were a little easier to interpret, like The Rogue's. At once, a sudden thought struck him, and he stared about at the near-barren patch of land.   
  
"Where is Der Schurke?" He asked momentarily forgetting Kitty couldn't understand Germanic.  
  
Kitty, however, guessed whom he was referring to, though she didn't comprehend the title. "Who? That girl? She left."  
  
"Left?"  
  
"Uh-huh. Didn't like, say a word either. Just like, got up and walked away into the forest." She indicated to a band of trees beyond the crater where her house had once stood. Another part of the Black Forest, beyond the land of the disused quarry. "She didn't seem like, concerned about you or anything. And you were practically dead on the floor."  
  
A wry grin split Kurt's furry face. "I'm not exactly a welcome travelling companion. In fact, I probably should've guessed she'd leave the moment I was out of it. Perfect opportunity to get away from me."  
  
"Nice." Kitty expostulated. "Why would she like, wanna do that?"  
  
"Because he's an annoying little blue furball with a big mouth."  
  
"Frauline?" Kurt couldn't believe it, and for a moment thought he was hallucinating. But no, it *was* The Rogue. Stalking towards them from the closely-knit mass of trees. Her hood was up, and her cloak swirled about making her visually unidentifiable, but there was no mistaking that voice. Harsh, yet lilting, and undeniably southern.   
  
She approached them quickly. The fact that she was standing whilst they sat gave her an intimidating air - just the way she liked it. Her face was totally hidden by the shadows cast by her hood. Kurt heard a 'snikt' of metal, and fell backwards as her sword suddenly lanced out from beneath the shroud towards him. Kitty gave a small squeal, and the pair of them both scuttled away on their behinds. Kurt was the first to stop. His keen night-vision had allowed him to see that The Rogue was holding her weapon in an almost flaccid grip, and there was something speared on the tip. A plant. The imposing figure took a step forward to him and thrust the greenery into his lap.  
  
"Here. Take this." Was the brusque order. Kurt daintily picked the limp plant up in his undamaged fingers. It was a weed of some description, with a head of many tiny red flowers. As he moved it, powdery yellow pollen dusted his dark fur.  
  
"Don't waste it." The Rogue snapped. "It's Bellock."  
  
"Bellock?" Kitty crawled forward on her hands and knees. "Isn't that like, a painkiller?"  
  
"Sharp aren't you?" The other girl retorted.  
  
"What am I supposed to do with it?" Kurt asked. The Rogue rolled her eyes.   
  
"You put the pollen on a wound." Kitty replied for her. "It helps with the pain and like, stops infections."  
  
"Ja? Danke, Frauline." Kurt said gratefully, pulling at his makeshift bandage.   
  
"Here, let me help you with that." Kitty offered, taking his hand gently in hers. "I wrapped it pretty tight, and you might like, hurt yourself more if you tug at it."  
  
The Rogue stood over them, body language unreadable, even to Kurt. "So what did you do to yourself, elf?"  
  
"Hey, he has a name you know." Kitty said almost angrily. "It's Kurt."  
  
"Like I care? He's still just a stupid elf to me."  
  
Kitty glared. She seriously didn't like this girl's attitude. Who did she think she was? Manners, her mother had told her often enough, didn't cast a penny, but were worth more than gold.  
  
"Ich bin hingefallen und habe mir weh getan." Kurt explained, wincing slightly as the blood soaked strips were peeled away. He wasn't bleeding anymore, but the old blood had crystallized, sticking the fabric to his fur and pulling it out by the roots when Kitty detached it.  
  
"Trust you." The Rogue growled. Kitty glanced up at her.  
  
"Wait a minute, you can like, understand him? But you're not from Germania. You're accent's from the Southern Realms."  
  
"You don't have to be from a country to speak the language, shrimp." The Rogue spat, before turning and walking a few paces away from the pair and hunkering down to sit cross-legged with her back to them on the blackened ground. "I had to speak lots of different languages in mah old job."  
  
"And what exactly was your job?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Hey, I'm talking to you!"  
  
"Shhh." Kurt grasped her wrist urgently. "Please, don't anger her. She can be very dangerous when angered."  
  
"So can I." Kitty muttered. "Just who exactly does she think she is, anyway?"  
  
Kurt's voice fell to a low whisper, and he glanced conspiratally around before speaking. "She's The Rogue of The Guild of Assassins."  
  
Kitty's eyes abruptly widened in disbelief. "Really? Her?" She turned to stare at the figure sitting in the gathering darkness. "But I thought The Rogue was a man."  
  
Kurt shook his head. "It's true, The Guild of Assassins is made up of mostly males and it's very rare for them to include a female in their ranks, but she *is* The Rogue."  
  
"Wow." Kitty breathed at the presence of the unorthodox and rather frightening celebrity in their midst. "I mean like, wow!"  
  
"I know. Ow!"  
  
"Sorry! Sorry! Wasn't concentrating. It's just so like, wow! Did I hurt you?" She peered closely at his torn flesh, where a thin driblet of crimson had appeared from under a reopened scab.  
  
"Not much." Kurt gritted. "It's probably better this way. Now I can get the pollen into my blood properly." He reached for the plant, which was lying on the ground by his foot.  
  
"Oh no you don't." Kitty snatched it up and waggled a finger at him. "*I'll* do it. I know what I'm doing." She proceeded to systematically disconnect each red flower and carefully empty the contents over Kurt's leaking wound. Gradually, his palm became covered in the powdery substance, creating the effect that he had mottled blue and yellow fur.  
  
"Hey, I've changed colour. Like the new look?"  
  
"Either that or you've got one heck of a skin condition." Kitty giggled. Kurt smiled. At least she didn't seem to be fretting about her house anymore. Her laughter sounded nice. He didn't usually hear laughter at home. His mother was so serious, and when she *was* amused, she'd only ever smile. She never, ever laughed, let alone giggled.  
  
"Frech." He grinned.  
  
"Will you two pipe down!" The Rogue snarled, not facing them.  
  
"Are you trying to sleep?" Kitty asked, with more than a little fear in her tone now she'd learned the identity of the girl and her terrible reputation.   
  
Everyone in the land knew of The Rogue of The Guild of Assassins. Many rumours abounded about this secretive individual. Some said The Rogue feasted solely on human flesh, others said that The Rogue was the only outcast from the Guild ever to remain alive, and there were some that said The Rogue was really a demon in disguise, who stole children from their beds and offered them up as sacrifices to the Lady Moon in the dead of night. Since the Guild of Assassins was so secretive anyway, nobody knew whether these rumours held any grain of truth. Some even went so far as to say that The Rogue was only a myth. A story made up by idle housewives and mothers to scare their children into going to bed.   
  
How wrong they are, Kitty thought to herself. If only they could see her now. Who would have believed The Rogue would be like, female? She doesn't look much older than me either. I wonder if any of those stories about her *are* true? No, wait, I don't think I wanna like, know if they are.  
  
"No, I'm not tryin' to sleep. I'd never be so stupid as to sleep out in the open like this."  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
"No cover. It's too easy to surround and trap prey in."   
  
"Prey?" Kitty mentally gulped. Even her diction was predatory. Savage. That of a hunter.  
  
How strange that she should be more scared of a human than of the fuzzy blue elf sitting beside her. Yet, there was something about Kurt. His entire bearing was non-threatening, as if he'd spent a considerable amount of time perfecting how to make people feel comfortable in his decidedly odd presence. It was soothing, in an unconventional kind of way.  
  
"Miss Kitty? May I ask you a question?"  
  
Now it was her turn to be caught off guard. Kitty verbally fumbled for a moment, then regained her composure enough to speak. "Yeah, sure. Fire away, Kurt. But don't call me 'Miss Kitty', would ya? Just Kitty will do."  
  
"Um, OK. Well.... this may seem kind of weird, but.... um...."  
  
"Come on, spit it out."  
  
"Um.... was there anything, uh.... Special, about your house?"  
  
Her face adopted a confused expression, tilted to one side with a single eyebrow raised. "How do you mean?"  
  
"I mean, like people being able to fall *through* the walls, and the fact that it blew *up* instead of burning *down*?"  
  
Her expression quickly switched to one of discomfiture. "Well, you see that's kinda an embarrassing subject. Um.... you see, there was this tank below the house."  
  
"'Tank'? What's a 'tank'?"  
  
"It's like a big metal container. And in this one, there were some gases which were highly flammable."  
  
"Flammable?"  
  
"Yeah. Like, one spark equals big boom, OK? Put it this way, when my Dad was alive, he wasn't even allowed to smoke his favourite pipe inside the house because of it. It was like, right below the floorboards."  
  
"How come you kept it there?" Kurt was interested. What could possibly be kept in a big metal container beneath a whole house? Having had little exposure to the world, he imagined a large jewellery box rather like his mother's buried under people's very feet, and marvelled at the oddness of the concept.  
  
"It was like, more convenient. Although my Mom always said it wasn't really sanitary. She was a stickler for germs and stuff." Kitty squirmed slightly, trying to skirt tactfully around the topic, hoping Kurt wouldn't ask that one question she was too embarrassed to answer straight out.  
  
Too late.  
  
"What was in this tank?" Kurt asked innocently.  
  
There it was! How the heck was she supposed to like, avoid something that frank? Kitty fidgeted profusely, redirecting her eyes to the ground and muttering something akin to a whisper.   
  
"Excuse me?" Kurt's blue face was a picture of ingenuousness. "What did you say?"  
  
She mumbled again, and he leaned in closer, having to strain even *his* sensitive ears to make out what she was saying.  
  
"Sewaher."  
  
"Sewaher? What's that, Frauline?"  
  
Kitty sighed, resigned to her embarrassing fate. Why couldn't her parents have piped it somewhere else. Like, *not* right under the house, at least!  
  
"I said.... sewage."  
  
"Sewage? You mean like....?"  
  
She nodded. "Uh-huh. Totally icksome, huh?"  
  
Kurt blinked once, and then fell backwards holding his sides, laughter roaring from his gullet in an insurmountable wave. "Nein! Es ist urkomisch! Hilarious!"  
  
Kitty stared, gob smacked. Then a small smile played about her lips too. "I guess it could be seen as funny."  
  
"Could be? Frauline, that's the funniest thing I've ever heard in my entire life! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" He trailed off into uncontrollable sobs of mirth. "You were living....ha ha ha ha .... You were living on top of .... Ha ha ha ha! Schiesse!"  
  
Kitty giggled, seeing the funny side at last. "Yup. Not so good on hot days."  
  
"Eew!" Kurt expostulated, still wracked with hilarity. "Too much information!"  
  
He carried on this way for several more seconds, on his back, feet kicking and tail lashing as her fought to bring his breathing under control. Suddenly, he was shocked back into mock-gravity by a steel sword point burying itself in the ground by his head. The laughter gurgled in his throat as he looked up and saw The Rogue standing over him, her face impassive but her dark eyes thunderous.  
  
"Are you gonna shut up, or am I gonna cut your tongue out?" She hissed.  
  
Kurt hiccupped, stifling a few errant giggles and attempting - but failing - to drive all thoughts of the Pryde's exploding septic tank from his mind. "Shutting up." He managed to choke out, holding up his hand in a gesture of peace. The Rogue glared at him. Her expression was enough to quell any leftover chuckles before they had chance to rise to the surface, and Kurt fell silent under her stony gaze.   
  
"That's better. You make way too much noise, elf."  
  
"I'm sorry, Frauline." He apologised, pushing himself up with one hand, and then gripping it in pain. "Yowch!"  
  
"Here, let me help. I never finished wrapping it properly." Kitty murmured, anxious not to incur The Rogue's wrath by speaking too loudly. She busied herself with the scruffy bandages, avoiding the older girl's harsh stare.  
  
For her part, The Rogue turned and sat down in her previous position a few feet away, completely unconcerned with kitty's feverish movements. Yet she didn't rest, even for a second. Her eyes constantly scanned the terrain, looking for signs of approaching danger. Her intense training wouldn't let her rest, and her keen senses stayed relentlessly on the alert.  
  
Conversation wasn't her thing. She preferred silence. It allowed her to collect and examine her thoughts. But she let the idle, whispered chatter of the two younger adolescents slide past her ears, keeping half of her senses focused on the area around them, the other half strangely intrigued by their talk.   
  
"So, getting back to my original question - "  
  
"Yeah. Well, I have to tell you, Kurt. When you fell through the wall? Well, it wasn't the house. That was me."  
  
"You?" Kurt stared, baffled. "But, how is that possible?"  
  
"I dunno." Kitty shrugged her thin shoulders, and Kurt noticed how her collarbones stuck out horribly when she did so.   
  
~Poor little thing.~ He thought kindly, temporarily sidetracked. ~All alone up here. She probably hasn't had anything substantial to eat in a while, judging by the look of her. This ground must not be too fertile, and I don't remember seeing any animals about. Not that they'd still be alive after a blast like that. Poor little Kätzchen.~   
  
The nickname popped into his head uncalled for, but he turned it over in his mind, trying it out. Kätzchen. Yes, that was a good name for her. She wasn't big enough to be a real cat, but a kitten was a different matter.   
  
"Hey, are you even listening to me?" Kitty waved a hand in front of his face.  
  
"Huh? Wha-? Yes! Sorry, yes I'm listening. Go on." Kurt blushed beneath his fur at his inattention.  
  
"Well, like I was *saying*, I don't know like, how I can do it. I literally just woke up one morning to find I could like, pass through solid objects."  
  
"How'd you find out?"   
  
"Let's just say, I started off in my bed in the attic, and ended up on the kitchen floor - without having to use the stairs."  
  
"Oh." There didn't seem to be anything else to say to a statement like that. "Doesn't it worry you?"  
  
"Not really. I mean, it did at first, but that was a couple of months ago, and it hasn't like, affected my heath or anything. Although I have to say, up until today I couldn't like, take anybody with me. It was like, total surprise-ville when you went through the wall too. Not that I'm complaining." She smiled, and Kurt blushed again. "I can't really control it. It kinda happens at random. When I'm, like, stressed out and stuff."  
  
"Ya'll are very trusting aren't you?" The Rogue's unexpected voice floated over. Kitty perceptibly jerked, not knowing how to react, and apprehensive of offending the hazardous-of-temperament girl. It was more of a declaration than a question, but something told her the speaker required an answer nonetheless.  
  
Kitty swallowed. "Of course. What's a person without trust?"  
  
"Smart." Came the whip-crack reply. "In this world you shouldn't trust anyone if you wanna stay alive. Hey, elf?"  
  
"Ja?" He was getting used to the epithet now, though he still didn't particularly like it. It beat 'demon' though, or having his gizzard carved out for arguing.  
  
"Do you trust me? And be honest. I'll know if you're lying."  
  
"Well.... perhaps not per se - "  
  
"You see?" She sounded almost triumphant. "Trust is a weakness. It makes you vulnerable. The only reason he's stayed alive so far is because he *doesn't* trust me."  
  
Something twinged in the back of Kurt's mind at this statement, but his attention was caught when Kitty dared to ask another question, and the suspicious niggling was momentarily forgotten.  
  
"Haven't you ever trusted anyone?"  
  
"I prefer to rely on myself. That way, nobody can betray mah trust or let me down."   
  
Was it his imagination, or did The Rogue sound a little *too* vehement? Her back was still facing them, but Kurt wagered her expression was unmoved. Since she was sitting immobile, he couldn't read her body language very well, although he wondered if it was his tired mind playing tricks on him, or whether her shoulders had slumped a tad when she said 'betray my trust'?  
  
Kitty elected to risk another question. However, this one wasn't so well received. "But surely - "  
  
"Drop it, shrimp, before I burn the rest of your hair off. I said I never trusted no-one, so I never trusted no-one, OK?"  
  
Kurt would have called it quits at this point - having been almost skewered on The Rogue's sword several times, he knew the limitations of her patience - but it appeared Kitty didn't have his innate sense of when to stop.  
  
"Is that a Guild thing? Aren't you allowed to trust anyone when you're an assassin? Is that it? Huh?"  
  
At once, quicker than the eye could discern, and ostensibly faster than the wind itself could blow, The Rogue had whirled round, leapt to her feet, crossed the space between her and the younger girl, throwing her to the hard-packed ground, and had a dagger pressed to her gulping throat, all in the same incongruously elegant, fluid movement. To see such grace juxtaposed with such savagery would have been an awesome sight, if it weren't for the life about to end on the blade gripped in her hand.  
  
"Listen to me carefully." The hooded girl gritted. "Because I'm only gonna say this once."  
  
"Frauline, please." Kurt pleaded. He wasn't bold enough to grab her arm, and knew that even if he had, he probably would have been disembowelled the moment he touched her.   
  
The Rogue either didn't hear him, or deliberately ignored his cries. She bent closer, all but growling in Kitty's scared face. "Haven't you ever wondered *why* I'm called 'The Rogue'? I'll tell you why. If an assassin fails to complete a mission, for whatever reason, then that assassin becomes the next target. They're outcast. Shunned and hunted by the Guild. By their own kind. They're dirt. Nothing. Less than nothing, even. Not even worthy of the name they were given at birth. They run, nameless, until the Guild tracks them down and eliminates them. Either that, or they kill themselves in shame. Too humiliated to stay in the world in which they failed, they choose the cowards' way out and take their own lives. Bleeding to death on their own sword, or else hanging from some remote tree in the middle of nowhere for the crows to pick at.  
  
"You may wonder why I'm telling you all this. I'm telling you to make you understand. I'm called The Rogue because I'm no longer worthy of mah own name. Yet I won't submit to them. I won't go quietly, like a lamb to slaughter. Instead, I choose to fight. I choose to live. I feel no disgrace, and no shame for fleeing from them. That's why I'm *The* Rogue. I'm the only one who ever had the guts to keep going. And I'm gonna keep going until I'm good and ready to stop. But I'm not an assassin anymore. You got that, shrimp? I choose not to trust of my own free will, not because of what I used to be. Not because of what *they* implanted in my mind." She spat the words, flecks of spittle flying into Kitty's terrified face. The smaller adolescent cringed, her visage blanched and wan.  
  
Kurt watched with powerless concern. The Rogue looked so.... so.... he didn't know what it was. Something played about her voice and movements. Something she'd schooled her face not to show. He thought he could detect hurt. Deep-rooted and unequivocal. It was so incongruous he almost lost his words altogether as he wondered what had caused it. What had been said that elicited such hurt?  
  
However, his primary concern was for Kitty, who lay, gasping and weaponless, totally at The Rogue's mercy. The blade slid closer to her neck, and she squeaked in fear. The sound was only small, but it cleaved through Kurt like an arrow. The blade continued its fractional descent, and it seemed The Rogue had lost whatever shreds of mercy remained within her and had decided upon just killing the impertinent girl. Kurt searched desperately for something to say, something he could do to cease its movement.   
  
It came to him in a flash, and he threw into the air the first words that entered his mind.  
  
"Why did you rescue me?"  
  
The dagger stopped. "What did you say?"  
  
"I said," Kurt gulped self-consciously. "Why did you rescue me, Frauline?"  
  
"I didn't."  
  
"Yes.... You did. Twice. You saved me from the chimera. In.... in the quarry, and again in the house."  
  
Silence. No answer. Kurt swallowed nervously. Curse him and his big mouth, now she was probably mad at him too. Just sit still, he told himself. But be ready to run if she snaps.   
  
The Rogue remained immobile. She could have been a statue, for all she moved. Her dagger remained where it was, unwavering. The entire scene became imbued with a certain unreality. A dream-like quality wrought by the furry boy's frantic words.  
  
Why *had* she saved him?  
  
The question whirled in The Rogue's head, buzzing like an angry wasp. Why *had* she saved his life? Especially after she'd been so close to taking it herself earlier. She still remembered the temptation to slit his throat. To draw the steel blade through his fur and let his lifeblood flow free. Her senses tingled at the memory, appealing to her hunter's instincts and tugging at her mind with phantom fingers. You have a victim now, they whispered softly. You can wreak what you lost with him upon her instead. Come on, do it. Do it. One swift cut. A splash of red. Then it'll all be over. For her.  
  
Yet despite these alluring whispers, The Rogue felt torn, and couldn't bring herself to perform the final blow. It wasn't the weakness of mercy by any means, but something else.   
  
Bewilderment.  
  
Bewilderment at her own actions. Emotions she wasn't used to. Incomprehension. Confusion. Perplexity. She'd always prided herself on her clear mind. On knowing herself implacably. All faults, all failings were laid bare to her judicious brain before they had chance to develop into anything more serious. It was how she'd succeeded on missions where so many others had failed, and how she'd survived and kept going when driven from The Guild in disgrace.  
  
So why then couldn't she answer his question? Why was her mind a blank? She'd performed the deeds. She should know the motives behind them. Shouldn't she?  
  
Shouldn't she?  
  
But she didn't. For probably the first time in her one-time illustrious career, The Rogue was at a loss to explain own actions. She remembered everything with crystal clarity. How she'd been caught by a chunk of exploded rock whilst fleeing, and awoken minutes later to discover both elf and chimera gone. She recalled running, following their trail until she came upon them at the quarry. She remembered careering down the slope and leaping onto the beast's back to drive her sword home into its flesh before it pounced on him and ripped him to shreds. But she didn't remember why she'd done it. She'd been the one who initiated fleeing from it, so why had she chosen *that* particular moment to attack? Likewise, she could see in her mind's-eye how she'd run after the elf's injured form into the shrimp's house to encounter the chimera a second time. Everything played out again in her head, a rich tapestry of past colour and movement, yet with no underlying substance. No drive. No.... *motive*.  
  
She tried telling herself she'd only done it because of her own feelings against the chimera, but an element of the words just didn't ring true. No, there was something else. Some inexorable force she couldn't explain, which had caused her to rescue him. Why else had she returned when she'd happened upon that clump of Bellock? She'd meant to keep going, away from the fuzzy burden with his squealing little friend and on with her journey. Alone. It was the perfect opportunity. Yet she'd come back. She'd stopped and *consciously* turned back.   
  
Why?  
  
To that, she had no answer.   
  
She wished her old mentor were here. He'd known her better than even she knew herself. He'd trained her virtually from birth, after all, so he ought to. As a child, she'd been like malleable clay in his capable hands. His to mould in what form he chose. But he'd died many months ago on a mission. A grim reminder of the price of failure - if not by the Guild's hands, then by the hands of a vengeful enemy.  
  
The silence was abruptly broken by Kitty, who - unable to contain herself any longer - unleashed another muted squeak of fear. The Rogue started, blinking her unwanted contemplations back into the crevasses of her mind. Hiding them away. Just like all her memories of....  
  
No! She couldn't think about that anymore. That time was over. Like brittle leaves on a swift Autumn breeze. Gone. Spent.   
  
She straightened up, without warning sheathing the dagger in the small scabbard at her waist.   
  
"I'm leaving now."  
  
"Aber - " Kurt protested. She still hadn't answered his question. But the cloaked girl spun round and made off into the trees without another word. "Hey, wait up Frauline!" He called, and began to bound after her. All at once he halted, a thoughtful expression crossing his furry face.   
  
Kitty was just picking herself up from the floor and dusting off her grimy skirts when a decidedly fuzzy hand thrust itself at her, palm-up. Her eyes slithered up the arm attached to it, coming to rest finally on Kurt's infectious smile and merry eyes.  
  
"Come with us?" He ventured.  
  
"With her!?" Kitty cried, aghast. She didn't need a gesture to signify whom she was referring to, although there were several she had in mind. "Are you, like, mad? Because I think she is!"  
  
Kurt wrinkled his nose. "With *me* then. I'm not really her travelling companion, as you can see. Hey, Frauline, warte auf mich!" The Rogue kept walking, not even acknowledging his shout. He turned back to the brown haired girl sitting before him, hand still outstretched. "Come on, it'll be an adventure. It's a free land. She can't stop us from going to Zanninsa."  
  
"Zanninsa?"  
  
He nodded. "That's where we're going. Come on, you don't exactly have anything here holding you back."  
  
A wry smile hovered about her lips. "I guess not. A house that's gone kablooey really isn't much of a house at all, is it?" She grasped the proffered tridactyl hand. It was warm and soft, and his fur tickled her skin. She repressed a giggle, not wanting to disrespect or offend him. He grinned, revealing wicked fangs.  
  
"It'll be fun. You'll see, Kätzchen."  
  
A puzzled air briefly crossed her sallow face. "What did you just call me?"   
  
"Macht nichts." He chuckled.  
  
Kitty eyed him suspiciously. "Like, whatever."  
  
And they started after the retreating hooded figure, into the night, all the time keeping a safe distance from her itchy blade.  
  
*******************  
  
To Be Continued.....  
  
*******************  
  
TRANSLATIONS:   
  
GERMANIC:  
Der Schurke ~ 'The Rogue'  
Ich bin hingefallen und habe mir weh getan ~ 'I fell over and hurt myself'  
Frech ~ 'Cheeky'  
Nein! Es ist urkomisch! ~ 'No! It's hilarious!'   
Aber ~ 'But'  
Warte auf mich! ~ 'Wait for me!' 


	5. The Past Returns

DISCLAIMER: X-Men:Evo belongs to Warner Bros. And Marvel Comics. I have never, and shall never own them, no matter how much I may want to. I've simply warped them to fit my own twisted mind. However, this fic and any original work herein is officially mine, and anyone trying to steal it will find out how painful a weapon a computer mouse can when used by someone with imagination.  
  
WARNINGS: This is an AU (Alternative Universe) fic. Everything has been transplanted into a fantasy universe of my creation. Inspirations, despite what you might initially think, aren't actually from a certain Peter-Jackson-esque film, since I started work on this before I ever *saw* that movie. Influences rather include Internutter's spiffy fic 'Mein Teuful' (if you haven't yet read this then go do it *now*!) and various other sources I'll explain later.  
  
CODES:   
Hello = Narration  
~ Hello ~ = Thought  
"Hello" = Character Speaking  
*Hello* = Bold  
//Hello// = Psychic communication  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: OK, 'Nike, I have little to no sense of direction or distance-measurment in imperial since I work primarily in metric. Honestly, my intent wasn't to *kill* poor Kurt, only rough him up a bit (insert evil grin here, manic cackling optional.) Will they pick up anybody else? Now, that'd be telling, wouldn't it?   
  
I apologise for my lack of good grammar and spelling. One reason for this might be that I live in the UK, and our way of spelling certain words differs from the rest of the world. However, there are some mistakes I have to just say sorry for. I'm off to Uni to do an English Lit course soon, so there's really no excuse for them.  
  
Now, onwards and upwards, peeps. This is officially the longest chapter in the whole fic, so brace yourselves. ^_^ Also, there is some Gehín in here I won't be translating, because it basically gives away a crux that has to be kept until later. So until then, you're all in the same ignorant boat as Kurt and Kitty.   
  
*******************  
  
'Of Beast And Blade' By Scribbler  
Chapter Three ~ 'The Past Returns'   
  
*******************  
  
'Look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again. Wisely improve the present. It is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future, without fear.' -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow  
  
*******************  
  
It emerged that, since the twin deaths of her parents several months previously, Kitty hadn't been into the city of Zanninsa at all, instead eking out an existence on the stored foodstuffs in her pantry and meagre vegetable garden. Snares also made up a part of her diet, but these were often left unsprung by shrewd animals, and not really a reliable source of sustenance. All of which accounted for her painfully thin frame and physical gauntness.   
  
When her father was alive, she'd made regular trips to Zanninsa on market days and public occasions, as the city wasn't a great distance from the disused quarry. But she'd ceased going when he could no longer accompany her. There just didn't seem much point without him, she'd surmised. As a result, she'd become somewhat of a hermit - albeit a friendly one. Her knowledge of the route to Zanninsa was to prove invaluable though, as she and her newly acquired fellow travellers journeyed to their destination. Many were the times her shrill voice could be heard directing them on the best course to take - much to the annoyance of The Rogue, who'd apparently also been to Zanninsa before, and didn't enjoy having her choice of direction undermined.  
  
"No, don't go that way, you'll put like, hours on the trip. Turn left here. Where are you going? Zanninsa's *that* way? Turn around. Keep going past the Sinking Sands - but don't fall in, now. No don't go over there, Kurt, that's poison ivy!"  
  
The Rogue didn't say much in return, but on several occasions Kurt was positive he could here her growling like a wild dog, though she kept her hood pulled up as usual, hiding her face in its deep shadows.  
  
They reached Zanninsa in the wee hours of the morning. It was uncertain when they would have arrived had it not been for Kitty's copious directions, but when they caught sight of the city, all petty squabbles were forgotten in the tremendous sense of awe that simultaneously washed over them.  
  
Zanninsa was resplendent in its glory. The unlikely trio crested a large hill at the periphery and stared down at it. A veritable sea of lights spread out before them, twinkling and glittering like fabled jewels in the blackness that was afforded by the mere sliver of a moon. As far as the eye could see, sprawling urban landscape stretched its municipal fingers, touching the wilderness beyond, but truly pulsing only within the city boundaries. Even at night it was a hive of activity, with the people appearing as ants from their lofty vantage point.  
  
Kurt gaped openly, having never been exposed to more than the village of Padra near his home, he had been unaware of just how big a city could be, especially one as splendid as Zanninsa, the market capital of Germania, which sat directly on its border with the land of Österrik.   
  
"Es ist riesig," he breathed. "Ich hatte keine Idee."  
  
"Beautiful, huh?" Kitty smiled, not understanding his words but enjoying his patent stupefaction all the same. "It looks a lot better at night than during the day. You're like, totally lucky to see it this way, Kurt."  
  
"Ach, ja?" he replied, not taking his golden eyes from the sparkling dots. He was like a magpie surrounded by an endless host of shiny coins. "What about you, Rogue? Do you think it's beautiful?"  
  
"Beauty is for fools and weaklings," she replied with her first remark in hours, before starting down the slope with her typical felinous grace.  
  
"I thought you'd say something like that," he muttered ruefully.   
  
Thus far, all attempts to thaw the former-assassin had failed miserably, and - as that little outburst showed - her ice-queen exterior still remained intact. Although, somewhere along the way, she'd lost the *The* part of her title, reducing her to the more bathetic 'Rogue', which sounded much nicer in his opinion. She hadn't protested, so he'd persisted in calling her this, eventually even turning Kitty towards the more companionable name, though Kitty wasn't feeling particularly charitable towards the girl who'd very nearly slit her throat for saying the wrong thing. The atmosphere between the two females was strained at best, with Kitty shying away from any personal contact, and Rogue neither seeking company nor actively turning away from Kurt's continual attempts to offer it.   
  
Now, she strode forward down the slope. Purposeful, and silently brooking no argument from her unwanted companions. Kitty and Kurt trotted after her like dutiful puppy dogs, drinking in the sight like it was the elixir of life. That is, until Kurt suddenly and unexpectedly stopped. Kitty carried on for a few more paces before noticing. When she became aware of his absence by her side, she turned and called back to him.  
  
"Hey, what's the matter? Doncha wanna see Zanninsa up close?"  
  
"Ja, aber - " Kurt replied, but he never finished his sentence, for at that moment his reversed-knees chose to buckle, throwing him from his feet onto his back in the soft turf.  
  
Kitty let out a piercing, urgent cry, which caused Rogue to halt and look back to see what was the matter. Not that she actually intended on doing anything about it, but she preferred to know the cause behind such noise.  
  
Kitty reached Kurt's side and knelt down. "Kurt? Kurt, what's wrong? Is it your hand again? Tell me."  
  
"Nein," he should his head from where he lay staring up at the stars. "Es ist nothing. I sometimes get like this when I haven't eaten for a while, is all."  
  
"Well like, when did you last eat?"  
  
He screwed up his nose in thought. "Um, breakfast. I think."  
  
"But that was like, absolutely hours ago. Does this happen often?"  
  
"Nein, not usually. As a rule I remember to eat."  
  
"You have a high metabolism," informed Rogue, appearing at Kitty's shoulder. Kitty squeaked in surprise - she hadn't even, like, heard her draw near.  
  
"A who's-in-the-what-now?"   
  
Rogue sighed at her unconcealed ignorance. "A. High. Metabolism. It's a concept from Biologikel-Science. It means your body uses up energy faster than most."  
  
"Biologikel-Science?" Kitty raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that, like, some new fangled study in Spaniet?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
~ Then how the hell do *you* know about it? ~  
  
Kitty tilted her face in a miniscule act of defiance - a dangerous action indeed considering its target, but Kitty's nature had a problem with subjugation, and more often than not it broke through the barriers set up by common sense.  
  
"So what do you propose we do? Since you seem to have all the answers."  
  
"*I* propose to do nothing. His metabolism's not mah problem. But if *you* wanna do something, then he needs energy."  
  
"Energy?"  
  
"Feed. Him. Can I put it any clearer?"  
  
Kitty 'harrumphed' and set about helping Kurt to his feet. The furry boy staggered slightly, leaning heavily against her. Despite his obvious good health, Kitty was struck by how delicate he was. He weighed practically nothing, and his waist was more of a twig than a trunk. She encouraged him to drape his arm around her shoulders for support. His fur was wet with clamminess from the skin beneath, and his breathing was a little faster than usual.  
  
Rogue slipped quietly ahead of them as they began descending the hill once more. She muttered a silent thank-you to a certain leading Spaniard scientist who'd been a mission of hers several months back. The notes she'd found on his desk on varying metabolisms in different races had been interesting at the time - though the bloodstains had made part of them illegible. She'd never figured they'd be of any use to her though. She'd have bet a hundred Liones that guy would have had a field day observing the elf.  
  
Eventually, they reached the base of the hill, straggling apart, but keeping each other in view. The city wall loomed before them, tall and imposing. Hundreds of feet tall. They were still countless feet away, but gave the impression of towering over their heads even at that distance. As they made their way towards them, Kurt found himself using Kitty more and more as support, to the point where he was unsure if he would even be able to stand up on his own any more. Kitty noticed how he was weakening, but said nothing. He needed all his strength for walking, and it wasn't fair to make him waste it by engaging him in conversation.  
  
When they arrived at the wall, Kurt could barely stand up, and clutched at Kitty in a way that would have made him blush right down to the roots of his fur had he not been so feverish and distracted. As it was, Kitty blushed enough for both of them, and was thankful that the darkness around them shrouded her crimson cheeks.  
  
The wall was whitewashed and latticed everywhere with cracks in the paintwork. Rogue paused for a second, staring up at it in quiet contemplation. Then she turned and traced its path for several metres to her left, leaving Kitty and Kurt follow as best they could. Further along, the object of Rogue's search became apparent. Two huge wooden gates, criss-crossed with black metal bars. Next to it was a booth of sorts, roughly hewn into the stonework. This too was shuttered by heavy wooden boards. Beside it perched a torch, burning brightly, and illuminating the whole scene with a ghostly light.  
  
Rogue rapped on the shutters of the booth with her knuckles. Nothing happened. For several moments there was silence, punctured only by unidentifiable animal-calls from the forest they'd just left behind. Rogue knocked again, with more vigour. Still nothing happened. Kitty shifted uncomfortable from foot to foot. Kurt was fast becoming a dead weight pulling at her shoulder.  
  
"I guess nobody's home," she affirmed.  
  
Rogue shot her a disgusted look. "There's always somebody 'home'. This is the Gatekeeper's Booth. It's his job to be 'home'."   
  
She thumped her fist against the wood, and was rewarded with a low curse and shuffling from within. Rogue stepped back, and after several seconds a small aperture slid open halfway up one shutter, revealing a pair of watery grey eyes fringed by copious wrinkles in parchment-like skin.  
  
"Yeah, whaddya want?" a gruff, irritable voice muffled its way through the barrier.  
  
"I seek passage into the city," Rogue reeled off, as if she'd dealt with thousands of grumpy gatekeepers before.  
  
"S'after hours. Can't let nobody in 'till dawn. Them's the rules," the watery eyes creased into slits as the Gatekeeper yawned. "Come back then, when the gates are open," and he made to shut the aperture.  
  
"If you let me in, I can make I worth your while."  
  
He stopped. "How much?"  
  
"Three Silver Kistrels."  
  
"Costs five."  
  
"It didn't when I passed this way last."  
  
"Price went up. S'five now."   
  
"I'll Give you four, and a Bronze Tigris. Final offer."  
  
He thought for a moment. "Done. Money first, then passage."  
  
"You'll get half now, and the rest when I'm standing on the other side."  
  
The Gatekeeper grunted, but relented. He thrust a hand out through the narrow aperture, closing his knarled fist greedily around the coins Rogue placed in his palm. The eyes then disappeared behind the wood, and after a few minutes a small, previously unnoticed door cut into the massive wooden gate creaked open. The Gatekeeper stuck his wrinkled old face round, beckoning Rogue forward. She obliged, but halted when he jerked a thumb at Kitty and Kurt and whispered loudly.  
  
"What about them?"   
  
Rogue didn't even bother looking round. Instead she simply sighed and grunted. "They're with me."  
  
"Gonna cost you extra - " the old man began.  
  
"Don't even try it!" she cut him off. Something in her tone told him she was not to be argued with, and he grudgingly pulled back the lesser door to let them through, grumbling all the while.  
  
Once safely inside the city walls, Rogue dutifully paid the cantankerous fellow, who disappeared back inside his warm booth with a curious glance at the half-collapsed Kurt and a mutter of; "Weirdoes."  
  
"Pebehock!" Rogue shot back to the closed door. It was a Gehín word, and Kitty didn't understand quite what it meant, but simply from Rogue's tone of voice it was easy to tell it wasn't anything complimentary.  
  
Rogue spun on her heel and stalked away, catching Kitty's shoulder as she passed. Kitty, already off-balance under the combined weight of both herself and Kurt, tumbled over from the contact into an ungainly heap. She tried frantically to extricate herself from the tangle of limbs - which looked rather compromising to the average passer-by - without hurting either herself or Kurt, but only served to enmesh herself further. Kurt attempted to help, but his own weak limbs refused to cooperate, and he could only manage the odd; "Es tut mir leid, Kätzchen."   
  
Kitty was in the process of turning a spectacular shade of cerise, whilst simultaneously trying to yank her skirt down, which was rising rapidly and exposing an embarrassing amount of bare leg, when her self-conscious prayers were answered in a most unusual fashion. A gloved hand reached as if from nowhere, roughly grabbing the elf by the back of his collar and wrenching him discourteously off her. Kitty stared up at her saviour, breathing hard.   
  
~ OK, slow down the breathing, Kitty, ~ she told herself. ~ Considering what that just looked like, heavy breathing is so, like, *not* gonna help. ~  
  
It was only when she saw the deep hood and cloak that she realised who it was had rescued her from public humiliation.  
  
"Hmm, that life of solitude got to you, did it?" Rogue sneered.  
  
Kitty sprang to her feet indignantly. "No it did not, thank you!" she reached out to release Kurt from where he dangled in her grasp.  
  
"Don't even bother." Rogue waved her away, slinging the limp elf easily over one shoulder. He didn't even cry out as he made contact with the armour beneath her cloak. "He's so out of it he can't even stand up any more, let alone walk. His metabolism must be off the chart."  
  
"Well what do we do?" Kitty asked urgently. "He needs something to eat. We have to get him some food before he gets worse," she shuddered inadvertently. 'Worse' was something she didn't even want to, like, think about.  
  
"We?" Rogue repeated, a hint of incredulity edging her voice. "Do you have any money? No, I didn't think so. And I'm not spending *mah* funds on him."  
  
"So what do you propose we *do* then?"  
  
"Well, if it were up to me, I'd just leave him here."  
  
"So why don't you then?" Kitty was getting impatient. All the time they were talking, Kurt was getting sicker. 'Worse' loomed closer as a distinct possibility.   
  
Rogue adjusted the elf's weight on her shoulder to a more secure arrangement, and then strode off with her characteristic silent speed and insolence. Kitty was left standing open mouthed, voice deserting her at the older girl's rudeness.  
  
~ She is so, like, impossible! ~ she thought angrily as she scurried after the swift duo.  
  
Rogue traversed the dark streets of Zanninsa with proficient ease. It was patently obvious that she'd been there before, and anyone who saw her pass by would have ignored her as a resident of the city had it not been for the peculiar blue bundle draped across her shoulder, and the skinny peasant girl hurrying behind. Kitty alone merited a second glance, but Kurt earned himself many curious stares and whispered comments, causing Rogue the roll her eyes and hurry on before someone stopped them and asked her what she was doing. She did *not* need any unanswerable questions right now, not when time was so short. She was certain They would have picked up her trail by now. She couldn't afford to allow them any advantage over her.   
  
It was in consequence to these musings that Rogue did something she would never usually have done. Ordinarily, to rid herself of her unwanted companions she would have just taken them both down a deserted alley somewhere, slit their throats and be gone before anyone ever found the bodies and associated them with her. But because of the interest people were now showing in them, such surreptitious action was subsequently denied to her. If she wanted to move swiftly before They arrived, she had to take the most trouble-free route possible given the circumstances - much as it pained her to do so.   
  
Kitty glanced apprehensively around her. She didn't recognise any of the streets, despite having been into Zanninsa numerous times before. With every step they took, the surrounding area became darker, as fewer and fewer lamps became evident. Everywhere was swallowed up in inky blackness, intimidating and near blinding. She put on a burst of speed and drew closer to Rogue.  
  
"Hey... um.... where are we, like, going? This isn't the way into the city centre." She'd assumed, apparently wrongly so, that they were heading to Zanninsa so late at night because of the famous indoor market in its centre. It was renowned as 'The Market that Never Sleeps', and people had been known to own stalls there for thirty years or more and never shut up shop once in all that time.  
  
"We're not going to the centre. We're going to Cheapside," Rogue replied.  
  
Kitty goggled. "Cheapside?!" A grizzled man bent double with age looked up at her shout, and she forced her voice down to a low whisper. "Cheapside? Are you, like, crazy? That's suicide. Nobody goes to Cheapside at night. Hells, nobody goes to Cheapside during the day either if they, like, know what's good for them." Horrific pictures manifested themselves in her mind, sprung from the numerous gory rumours that circulated concerning the rougher area of the city. It was common knowledge that to enter into Cheapside without protection was to run an intractable risk of losing your purse, your life or both.  
  
"Mah sword will protect us," Rogue stated confidently. Kitty wasn't so sure. Somehow, one ex-assassin versus the entire Zanninsa underworld didn't seem like very good odds to her. She stayed close to Rogue's heels. There was safety in numbers - she hoped.  
  
It was unclear exactly *when* they entered Cheapside, but after a while Kitty began to notice how few people there were around, and how those that were there leered intimidatingly at the two girls and comatose elf as they passed. The very houses themselves seemed threatening, leaning forward on their foundations to encapsulate the streets with ominously long shadows. The younger girl didn't mind admitting that she was more then a little scared, and shivered inadvertently as a chill - not from the cold, as it was an unusually warm night - crept down her spine.  
  
Rogue cast about her with near-imperceptible jerks of her head. It had been some time since she was last in Zanninsa, and, if truth be told, she wasn't entirely sure of her bearings in relation to the destination she had in mind. Her dark eyes slid back and forth, drinking in the murky doorways filled with drunkards and bountiful amounts of unmentionable refuse. Some of these unfortunates waved bottles or filthy hands in their direction, convinced that the strange ensemble was just part of some alcohol-induced hallucination. But for the most part, they simply sat comatose, waiting for the morning and the promise of more liquor.   
  
At last the trio paused. Kitty huddled as close to Rogue as she dared, peering up at the building they'd stopped in front of. It was a gaudy public house, with brightly coloured banners strung across the doorway and the words 'Das Rückenhaus' painted in faded gold lettering above. Garish music filtered out through the open doorway. The kind that makes you tap your toes until you realise just what the lyrics are.   
  
Kitty gazed curiously into the establishment, past the dangling banners - which had obviously seen better days - into the room beyond. A large makeshift stage had been set up next to the rather seedy looking bar, and on it, three dancing girls pranced and twirled in ruffled skirts and incredibly low cut blouses like heavily made-up harpies.   
  
One of them stooped to where a smirking man leaned against the platform, jiggling her chest at him and exhibiting rather too much cleavage then was absolutely necessary. He grinned, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gold coin. The dancing girl snatched it avariciously from his hand, before giving a keening laugh and playfully planting a kiss upon his bald forehead. Then she sashayed away, back to her partners, with the coin tightly clasped in her fist.   
  
Kitty gawked, aghast. This was one of the unwholesome places her parents had warned her about. Enterprises of 'loose morals', as her mother had piously put it. Many was the time Mrs. Pryde had cautioned her daughter about the men who inhabited such places, as well as the sordid exploits of women who worked there.   
  
The brown haired girl leaned close to Rogue and hissed at where she supposed her ear must be beneath her hood. "We're not going in *there* are we?"  
  
Rogue said nothing. A swaying man with long bedraggled hair falling loosely about his face stumbled past them, smiling at Kitty in a most unbecoming manner before entering the pub. Kitty shuddered.  
  
~ Like, no *way* am I going in that place! ~ she thought vehemently. ~ And if she tries to force me, I'll.... I'll.... ~  
  
But this particular train of thought was never brought to fruition, because at that moment the older girl gave a quick shake of her head and started off again down the dark street, apparently having come to some kind of decision. Not sure whether to be relieved or disgruntled, Kitty followed meekly after her.  
  
They turned a sharp left down a narrow alley that Kitty hadn't noticed before. It was dark and dank, and the noises from 'Das Rückenhaus' were abruptly cut off as they rounded the corner. Kitty shivered again. This place was, like, creepy. Yet she didn't dare voice her apprehension, lest Rogue deem her dispensable and either kill her or abandon her here.  
  
Kill her.  
  
The idle thought sharpened itself on her psyche, burning into her mind with menacing brevity. Rogue used to be an assassin. She probably wouldn't even think twice about bumping off a single peasant girl. Kitty was inconsequential in the great scheme of things, and an alleyway like this would be the perfect place to end a life unnoticed. Unease grew in Kitty's gut, manifesting itself into a block of ice buried in the pit of her stomach.   
  
This cold block froze the rest of her insides as her perilous guide suddenly halted. Kitty very nearly bumped into her, but caught herself just in time. Rogue stood, still and silent. Not even the breeze ruffled her cloak in the confined passageway. She seemed more imposing and more dangerous than ever, and Kitty swallowed hard as the ice travelled up her throat to lodge in her gullet.   
  
What was she doing? Was she going to kill her now? It seemed the most likely action, given her patent dislike of the young peasant. Kitty bunched her muscles, ready for flight.   
  
Yet, despite all her certainties that Rogue was about to attempt murder, nothing happened for several minutes. That is, until the ex-assassin's drawling voice slithered over her shoulder in a penetrating sneer.   
  
"You gonna stand there all night, or are you gonna go in?"  
  
In? What did she mean, 'in'? Kitty glanced about her, puzzled, and abruptly saw to what Rogue was referring.   
  
A small tavern, half hidden by shadows and nearly as quiet as the grave, stood away to their left, embedded between two dilapidated giants. Above its door, swinging lazily despite the lack of wind, hung a wooden sign that read 'The Copper Cow'. Kitty blinked to make sure she wasn't imagining it.  
  
"Over there? But that place is, like, deserted."  
  
"No it ain't," Rogue corrected. "It's just a little.... selective about its customers is all."  
  
Kitty paused for several more seconds, not sure whether to believe what she was hearing. Rogue evidently had been here before, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing - at least, not in Kitty's book. A few more seconds passed, upon which Rogue ostensibly ran out of patience and shoved Kitty in the back, forcibly propelling her towards the dwarfed building.  
  
They entered in a flurry of skirts and cloak, as Kitty tried to keep away from Rogue's prodding fingers by walking backwards, whilst simultaneously loath to enter the construction. A harsh croaky voice behind her made her jump, and she gave a squeak before diving behind Rogue in a blatant show of cowardice.   
  
"Kin ah help ye, Miss?"  
  
Kitty peered round Rogue, conscious of her own demonstration of non-bravery. The older girl stepped forward towards the innkeeper leaning over his counter, not cowed, and stated in confident tones:  
  
"I need food. Quickly. And lots of it."  
  
"Anythin' be takin' ye're fancy in particular, Miss?" the portly man inquired, shooting an inquiring look at Kurt and raising one bushy red eyebrow. The elf was by no means the most unusual looking customer he'd ever seen, but he was certainly one who'd arrived in the most unusual of fashions.  
  
Rogue adjusted her burden, smacking Kurt's head against her armour, but remaining essentially unconcerned for his welfare as her passenger. "Whatever I can get the most of for the least money."  
  
"Ah," the innkeeper nodded. "Ye be wantin' bread an' drippin' then. Jes' sit yeselves down over yonder an' ah'll ask fer some fer ye. Will ye be wantin' anythin' to drink at all?"  
  
"Yep," Rogue affirmed. "Two cups of your best brew. Ah.... better make it three." She cast a glance over her shoulder to where Kitty still stood.  
  
"As ye wish, Miss," the generously proportioned man replied, and then disappeared through a swinging door behind him.  
  
The tavern was small and cramped, consisting of one room filled with several tables packed closely together. The air was heavy with the smell of stale drink and old smoke, and here and there were dotted people, huddled over their glasses and unwilling to look anyone in the eye. The trio crossed the area to a table rammed into the corner, where Rogue finally unloaded her semi-conscious burden onto a chair.   
  
Kurt sat, immobile, and then suddenly toppled forward. Rogue's arm jutted out to catch him, and she wrenched his thin body back into an upright position before sitting down herself across from him. Kitty slid into place next to the furry boy, propping him up with one of her own frail arms. His golden eyes flickered open for a moment, and the corners of his mouth tugged into a grin as he whispered drowsily:  
  
"Ich wußte, daß Sie konnten nicht mir widerstehen."  
  
"He's delirious," Rogue stated from where she sat, sprawled across two chairs in the nonchalant manner of a lazy cat, yet with an alertness that betrayed her readiness to spring into action at any given moment.  
  
"I wouldn't know," Kitty answered innocently. "I can't, like, speak Germanic."  
  
A snort escaped Rogue's nostrils. Kitty looked perplexed. What was so funny? However, her musings were quickly forgotten as Kurt lurched forward again and she was forced to catch him before he smacked into the table.   
  
The tabletop was thick with grime and old dirt, testament to the many guests who'd used it before. A cloud of nebulous grey smoke clouded the air - most of which could be attributed to one man sitting in the centre of the small room, puffing stoically away at a large pipe.   
  
Rogue clandestinely cast her gaze around the enclosed room. This was one of her 'safe-spots'. The understated havens she used in virtually every city she'd ever been to, where few would be able to find her. True it was dingy and not exactly high class, but it served edible food at good prices - a commendable feat in Cheapside. Also, it provided her with a clear view of everything that went on around her without having to leave her seat. Strategically speaking, this was invaluable.  
  
After a short while, the innkeeper returned, bringing with him a large bowl of some unidentifiable brown slop, accompanied by a slab of white bread and three wooden beakers balanced precariously on a tray.   
  
Rogue made no move to help him with his cargo, instead watching him through narrowed eyes, and Kitty had her hands full trying to keep Kurt upright and conscious long enough to feed him.   
  
The innkeeper set down the bowl, laying the bread unceremoniously on the bare tabletop beside it. He placed the beakers down also, before turning to Rogue and stretching out one podgy hand palm up for payment. Sighing Rogue went into her purse - beneath her cloak, so as not to reveal to the world where she kept her money - and passed him the required amount. He bit one coin in that suspicious way that innkeepers do, before nodding and returning to his desk at the entrance once more.  
  
As he left, he shot a long sideways glance at the bizarre party. His pond-green eyes, enfolded in flab, danced upon them with an astuteness unsuited to his stout frame, appraising the three unusual customers with shrewd glee. The two females were too busy with the furry one - who'd chosen that moment to flop facedown into the bowl of dripping - to notice his interested gaze.   
  
However, it didn't go completely unobserved. A certain pair of dark, unfathomable eyes noted his action with a harsh shrewdness of their own.   
  
Kitty pulled Kurt out of the congealed fat with a faint 'schlock'. His head fell back limply, as if attached to his neck only by fine thread. His mouth was open, and a small amount of the greasy brown substance was smeared around his bottom lip. The brown-haired girl glanced at her companion.  
  
"Well, what do I do now?"  
  
"Use your initiative, shrimp," Rogue answered, shaking off a piece of fat that had splattered onto her hand when Kurt's face hit the brown mass. "He needs it *inside* him if it's gonna do any good."  
  
Kitty looked into the bowl. "Urgh, is this stuff even, like, edible? What *is* it?"  
  
"Dripping," Rogue replied. "Clotted animal fat mixed with flour. You dip the bread into it and it gets absorbed. Very nourishing."   
  
"Urgh!" Kitty groused again. "You sure? Looks more like mud mixed with grease to me."  
  
"Just feed him."  
  
The smaller girl grimaced, then reached into the bowl. She scooped out a finger of the brown slop and brought it hesitantly to Kurt's mouth.   
  
His breathing was discordant, and a bead of sweat dribbled through the fur at his temple. He looked so pathetic and helpless. Finding a new resolve at this pitiable sight, Kitty raised the loaded finger and gently pushed it past his lips to scrape it off against his sharp teeth.   
  
Nothing happened for a moment. Then slowly, his throat spasmed, as if choking, except without any coughing. Kitty smiled wanly, taking another finger of the dripping and feeding it to him the same way. It too melted within his gullet, sliding easily into his belly like liquid.  
  
Rogue watched with feigned interest. With languid grace she reached out and hooked her own fingers around the handle to her beaker and raised the local brew to her mouth. It was warm and sweet on her tongue, with a sharp tang that reminded her of the musky spices used in cooking in the Far Eastern lands. She drank deeply, closing her eyes to let the tangy liquor wash over her palate and sweep down her throat.  
  
The beaker was half empty when she came up for air. She'd forgotten how good the drink was at this place. One of the best she'd found on her travels. As she recalled, she hadn't been the one who found 'The Copper Cow' at all. Rather, her old mentor, who knew all the best haunts for a pint in every realm, had introduced her to it. She recalled his face upon finding a less than average bar and consuming its less than average tipple.  
  
"Ach! Donkey piddle in a cup! You'll never find anything to compare with The Copper Cow's brew, girl. Silk in a beaker, that's what that stuff is. Better than ambrosia, I'd wager."  
  
"Silk in a beaker," she repeated the memory softly.  
  
"What did you say?"   
  
Rogue looked up at where Kitty had paused, another globule of slimy material coagulating on her finger. Next to her, Kurt's eyes flickered open as his strength began to miraculously return. His high metabolism allowed him a speedy recovery, and he weakly croaked "more" at his feeder, although with none of his usual verve.   
  
"Nothing. You might wanna try him with some of the bread now. Dip it in and let it soak for a moment, then feed it to him."  
  
Kitty nodded, complying dutifully with what she was told. Rogue settled back in her chair, toying with her cup between her hands and watching the younger pair.   
  
They were so young. So innocent. Not for the first time she wondered why the elf had chosen to travel with her. The shrimp was easy enough to figure out. After the loss of her home, she'd simply locked onto the nearest sympathetic person - Kurt. But the elf was a different matter.   
  
Rogue stared at him as he sat, grease snagged in his fur. Why would a seer's son choose to travel with an outcast assassin like her? Especially when he knew who she was beforehand. Rogue recalled the looks he'd given her as they travelled. He'd thought she hadn't noticed, but it was hard to get anything past her. There was something in his gaze she hadn't seen for a long time. Concern, like he knew something about her that she didn't. And pity.   
  
Hate, pain, malice, all these things she knew, and knew well. But pity? Nobody pitied an assassin. Nobody felt sympathy for the silent bringer of death who clung to shadows and delivered judgement on the end of a blade.  
  
Was that why she'd saved him?  
  
The question bored into her brain. Was that why she'd spared his life, and even gone so far as to rescue and care for him when he was sick? It had been so long since anyone had shown her anything except hate and fear, and for a long time that was all she'd ever wanted. She'd wanted people to fear her. To see the terror in her victim's eyes when they realised who she was, it was like a drug. Potent and sweet. But now....  
  
Now she'd lost that life, and everything that went with it. The hunger for blood. The adrenaline of the chase and pounce. The beauty of a blade, stained with red, shining its triumph like a crimson beacon.   
  
Where was that glory now? Where was the enjoyment of the chase? Of the kill? There was something akin to a hollow inside her. An inexorable void, created the moment she fled the Guild, and growing ever since.   
  
Was that the reason for her weakness? Compassion? Was that what this emptiness inside her craved? Rogue didn't know. She didn't know anything any more. Nothing except the feeling of constant flight. Of always looking over her shoulder, watching in case They were there, following her. Hunting her. As the fox stalked its rabbit prey, waiting to pounce. They were close, and she knew it. She'd taken an incredible risk pausing in the city. It would have been better just to move on. Skirt round Zanninsa and keep going until....  
  
Until what? Until you find Him? Her almost-conscience sneered at her as she'd sneered at Kitty. Rogue pushed it away, unwilling to confront what it said. Unwilling to face the painful memories attached to that one thought.   
  
Yet it pervaded her mind, forcing its query into view though she tried in vain to keep it away from her. An image floated across her mind's-eye. A face. Had she been a weaker person she may have cried at the memories it invoked, but Rogue was made of sterner stuff than that, and cogently compelled herself to ignore the image. To focus on something else instead. Something in the real world, away from her mental torment.  
  
Rogue gazed lazily about the room, tracing the outline of chairs and tables through the smoky haze. Nothing struck her in particular, but it was good to focus on something else. Something more.... tangible.   
  
Suddenly, something caught her eye. A lone figure, sitting at a table across the room. He wore a long tattered cloak, frayed at the edges and stained with dirt and grime. By his physique she could easily tell that it was a man. He sat hunched over his brimming mug, and his hood was pulled up hiding his face in shadow. She couldn't see his eyes, but somehow she knew that he was looking straight at them. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled - a sure sign of danger.  
  
Suddenly this place didn't seem so safe any more.  
  
Rogue's muscles tensed of their own accord. She trusted her instincts, as all good assassins did, and right now they were warning her of danger nearby. The lone figure was watching them too intently to be just another interested passer-by. There was purpose to his gaze, and she didn't trust it.  
  
"Hey, shrimp," she hissed out of the side of her mouth. Kitty looked up, a piece of fat-coated bread between her fingers.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Shhh! Not so loud!" Rogue made an effort to remain nonchalant. ~No point in warning whomever it is that I'm onto him,~ she thought grimly. ~Not until I figure out what he's up to, anyway.~  
  
"What?" Kitty said again, lowering her voice.  
  
"See that guy over there? He's watching us."  
  
"So?"   
  
"I don't trust him."  
  
Kitty stole a glance at the figure. It was true, he did look suspicious. But then, no more than Rogue did herself. Beside her, Kurt stirred, golden eyes flickering open.  
  
"Was ist los?" he croaked feebly.  
  
"Huh?" was Kitty's unintelligent answer. The furry boy looked at her, then blinked as he remembered her lack of Germanic tongue.  
  
"What's the matter?"  
  
"Oh. Some guy over there's, like, looking at us, and Rogue's going all, like, protective on us."  
  
"Rogue? Protective?" Kurt's gaze slid over to the other girl, whose dark eyes blazed beneath her hood.  
  
"Listen here, shrimp! I am *not*, I repeat, *not* being protective about you two. I just thought an extra set of eyes might be useful for watching him. Obviously I was wrong."  
  
"Like, whatever," Kitty interjected. "Here Kurt, take a bite," she shoved the bread into his mouth. Kurt chewed and swallowed, anxious to retrieve his dwindling strength as quickly as possible. Unlike Kitty, he knew to trust Rogue's instincts, and didn't want to be caught flagging if danger arose.  
  
Rogue took another casual swig of her beaker. "Drink up," she ordered tersely. "We're moving out."  
  
"Moving out? But Kurt - " Kitty protested.  
  
"Nein, nein, we must do as she says," Kurt wheezed with obvious effort. "I'll be fine, honestly. I feel better already."  
  
"Be that as it may, finish your food and drink first. I don't want you collapsing on me again, elf," Rogue commanded in a tone that sanctioned no argument.  
  
Kurt reached out with trembling hands and picked up his cup. He lifted it to his lips, slopping generous amounts down his chin, but accepting no help from Kitty when she offered it. He had to prove to her that he was capable of administering to himself if they were going to move on. Kitty fell back, a little hurt at the rejection.  
  
A short while later, with cups drained and bowl scraped clean, the three youngsters rose to their feet. Kurt swayed a bit, but he was visibly brightening with every passing second.  
  
~Figures,~ Rogue thought icily. ~The only way to please a man is to fill his stomach. Why should a fuzzy blue elf be any different?~  
  
With forced casualness they made their way to the door, past the innkeeper's desk. He was there, talking with a lanky redheaded youth - presumably his son. The family resemblance was blatantly evident, despite the fact that the young man's features were sharp and angular where his father's were buried in flab.   
  
The innkeeper looked up as they passed, face creasing into a beam. Kitty grinned innocently back at him, and even Kurt managed a drawn smile. But Rogue stalked past, not even acknowledging his presence. The younger pair gave the innkeeper a shared apologetic glance, before following her out into the night.  
  
Rogue paced ahead of them, silent and swift, cloak billowing out behind her. They had to hurry to keep up, though Kurt was sure she was going a little slower than usual. Was that because of him? Was Rogue actually being considerate?  
  
Do pigs fly?   
  
Rogue abruptly sped up, virtually streaking away from them down the alley. She turned a sharp left, past a mound of soiled refuse and down another passage. Kurt urged his limbs onwards as fast as he could, feeling the strength return to them as the muscles rhythmically stretched and contracted. Still, it was a struggle to keep up. Especially as the ex-assassin kept zigzagging this way and that in a most confusing manner through the veritable warren that made up the back streets of Cheapside.  
  
Kitty hurried along at Kurt's side. She felt annoyed at Rogue's insensitive behaviour, and half considered calling out to her, before remembering where they were and silencing herself in the name of self-safety. They turned right, then left, then right again. This continued for several more minutes, until both adolescents were utterly lost and could only pray that at least Rogue knew where she was.  
  
Rogue knew where she was alright. She was just banking on their pursuer not knowing the same information. The shrimp and the elf hadn't realised yet that they were being followed, but Rogue had. It was hard to get anything past her. Even the soft tapping of quiet footsteps didn't go unnoticed to her ears - though she had to admit, she was surprised that the elf, with his heightened senses, hadn't become conscious of them too. Probably too busy keeping up with her to notice. But she couldn't slow down. She couldn't. Not unless they wanted to get caught by whomever it was trailing them.  
  
They carried on this way for several minutes. The sky turned a lighter shade of blue as the trio hastily meandered through the narrow alleyways. Morning was approaching, and the city would begin to awaken soon.   
  
~Not good. Not good at all,~ Rogue thought. ~Can't have people around if we wanna make a quick getaway. Too many witnesses.~  
  
The pursuer was still tailing them. Evidently, he or she knew Cheapside as well as she did. Damn! She'd been counting on losing them in the warren of passages.  
  
Kurt's blue ears pricked up as he at last became aware of their chaser. He leaned over and whispered something into Kitty's ear. Her blue eyes widened, but she nodded at him and picked up her pace. A tense silence surrounded them, punctured only by the sound of their footfalls and Kurt's still-harsh breathing.  
  
They were in a particularly dingy, particularly narrow alleyway when it happened. The walls here were so close together that they were forced to walk in single file, and even then their shoulders brushed the brickwork. It was little more than a slight space between two long-since-abandoned constructions, but it served its purpose. The noise of their pursuer faded a little, as if further away. Kurt dared to hope they were losing him or her.  
  
All of a sudden, with no warning, Rogue disappeared. She didn't even have time to cry out - not that she would have done. One moment she was speeding through the slender space at a rate of knots, the next, burly arms had jutted as if from nowhere, roughly grabbing her shoulders and wrenching her into the wall itself.   
  
No, no into the wall, but through it. An opening of some kind. Like a doorway sans the door. She struggled, but her own arms were pinned to her sides. Iron hands gripped them like twin vices. Whoever this person was, they were strong. Very strong.   
  
Her right arm was released. Bad move for them. That was her favoured blade-arm. She *could* use both at a push, but was most dexterous with the right.   
  
Hoever, before she could whip out her sword in defence, something 'pinged' at the back of her neck. Adept fingers tweaked at a nerve, essentially paralysing her. A painful blackness exploded inside her skull. She couldn't move. Couldn't speak even, but if she had been able to, only one word rested on her lips as she slumped to the ground in a helpless heap.  
  
~Yept!~  
  
Kurt and Kitty didn't know what was happening at first. The narrow alley constricted their view considerably, and they believed Rogue had simply turned down another passage as she'd been doing for the past half-an-hour. Unquestioningly, they followed her, Kurt leading and Kitty bringing up the rear.  
  
It was only when brawny arms grabbed them and hauled them through an erstwhile unnoticed entrance into one of the dilapidated buildings that they realised their mistake. Kitty made to scream, but found herself paralysed with fear. Yet this wasn't the terror that had struck her when faced with death at the end of Rogue's sword, but an inexplicable and primordial fear of the unknown. Such fear as has permeated the hearts of men since time immemorial.   
  
Despite the difference in race, Kurt felt it too. His throat constricted inadvertently, and the only sound he could manage was a choked rasp that clogged in his gullet.  
  
The grip on their arms tightened, and a low, husky voice growled from the darkness inside the building, "Quiet!"  
  
They complied, more from terror than actual obedience. Everything froze, and a deathly hush descended upon the scene. The minute dust particles suspended in the air itself seemed to freeze, as did the breath in their lungs. Nothing moved.  
  
But no, not quite nothing. A soft tapping of footsteps echoed down the alleyway outside, getting closer by the second. A figure flashed past the concealed entrance - which one couldn't see unless one knew exactly what to look for in the shadows. There was a burst of ginger, coupled with pale, angular features set in an ugly frown.   
  
Then the apparition was gone. Continued down the passage in the direction it believed its prey to have taken. The footsteps died away, and only when they'd completely disappeared did the captives release the communal pocket of air burning their lungs.  
  
The owner of the burly arms pulled Kurt and Kitty further into the room. Kurt stumbled, falling over his own feet. Somehow his tail got in the way of their subjugator, and was abruptly stepped on. Unable to hold it in, the furry boy yelped in pain. His tail was incredibly sensitive at the best of times, but to have a fully-grown person stand on it was excruciating, and cancelled out any fear-induced voice-paralysis.  
  
The burly figure grunted, shaking Kurt until his teeth rattled in his skull to silence him. Kitty whimpered, a small sound, utterly pathetic given the weightiness of the situation. Her whining earned her a short shake, and they were dragged even further into the room.  
  
~We're gonna die!~ the brown haired girl thought uselessly. ~We're gonna be murdered in this place. Throats cut.... or worse. Oh gods! Help us!~  
  
But her silent plea went unheeded it seemed, and she closed her eyes as their captor paused, awaiting the final blow she felt sure was to come. He *had* to kill them. Why else had he brought them in here?   
  
The thought spawned a multitude of other lurid images, each more grisly than the last, and each one fanning the flames of fear sparking in her chest.  
  
But the finishing blow didn't come.   
  
Slowly, Kitty eased one eye open. A gleam of metal immediately caught her attention. It hovered in her peripheral vision, and she turned slightly to see a sword pointing directly at the burly figure's throat. It glinted maliciously in the pallid light that filtered through a ragged hole high in the wall of the building, and Kitty traced the blade with her gaze, coming to rest on where Rogue stood, one hand clasped to the back of her neck, the other clutching her sword so tight her knuckles were white. Watery moonlight illuminated her face. Her hood had fallen back, revealing a mask of pure fury.   
  
It was unusual to see Rogue show any visible signs of emotion, and somehow it chilled the younger girl down to her very bones to see it. She seemed almost demonic, with the weak light creating eerie pits and hollows across the pasty canvass of her skin.  
  
"Put. Them. Down." she snarled.  
  
The muscular figure did nothing, as if gauging how far the adolescent girl was prepared to go. Rogue helped his decision along with a marginal thrust of her blade. Not enough to pierce his flesh, but enough to bring her dangerously close. Kurt and Kitty were abruptly dumped on the floor. They scrabbled away on their behinds, anxious to remove themselves from the presence of their attacker as soon as possible. When they were a considerable distance across the room they stopped, Kurt clutching his injured tail and stroking it like it was a frightened child.  
  
The hooded figure, face indistinguishable in the darkness, remained motionless. Rogue rubbed the back of her neck, the only indication that she'd been harmed. Considering the intention of the hurt it was a miracle she'd managed to stand up, let alone threaten anyone with her sword. Especially not someone considerably taller and bulkier than herself.  
  
She glared at the figure, momentarily forgetting her raining and letting her emotions show. "Who are you?"  
  
No answer.  
  
"I asked you a question. Who are you?"  
  
Still nothing. She might as well have been speaking to a statue. Rogue frowned, deepening the furrows already etching her face.  
  
~Don't wanna kill him. At least, not yet anyway. Not until I find out what he's after,~ she thought.  
  
What if he's just some mugger? Pointed out her almost-conscience.  
  
~Then I'll help the crime rate in this here city,~ she replied. ~One less petty crook ain't gonna make much of a difference. I gotta make sure first, though. He might be working for Them. In which case, I can't afford to let him live.~  
  
So you're going to kill him either way, the almost-conscience stated. More killing. More death.  
  
Rogue thrust the voice away. ~Shut up!~  
  
"Take off your hood," she ordered. The figure before her made no move to comply. "Take it off, or I'll take your head off with it," she growled, her acutely short patience wearing thin.  
  
At last the individual moved. Slowly - so slowly it was almost painful - the arms raised and thick-fingered hands curled around the edge of the cowl. The fabric rustled slightly as it was removed, and a short gasp sliced the tense air as the face beneath was revealed.   
  
Rogue's dark eyes grew round, whites dwarfing the irises until they were no more than pinpricks of colour. The gasp caught in her throat, gagging her until she could only choke out a single, raspy word. The same word that had followed her around for so long, hovering above her neck like a noose just waiting to tighten. For months she'd wanted to say it, knowing that she never could unless speaking of a memory. Yet now the time had finally come when she *could*, and it stuck in her gullet.  
  
"Logan?"  
  
It couldn't be.   
  
It was impossible.   
  
But it was true.   
  
Logan stood before her, plain as day, his face illuminated by the poor moonlight.   
  
Her blade wobbled. She'd been about to kill him. Take his head off. Logan. Had she been of weaker stuff she may have felt nauseous. As it was, she gawked at the man, disbelief written bluntly across her face.  
  
Kurt and Kitty watched in amazement. They'd never seen Rogue like this before. She was.... well, she was Rogue. *The* Rogue. Fearless and brutal. Yet the sight of their attacker's face was enough to reduce her to a gaping fool with an expression akin to the village idiot plastered onto her features. Somehow this was even more frightening then her casually cruel indifference.   
  
"Logan?" Rogue whispered, barely audible.   
  
Kurt sat, rubbing his tail. There was that name again. Somehow, Rogue seemed to know the man. The furry boy's golden eyes appraised him swiftly. Folds of swarthy material similar to Rogue's shrouded most of his body, but what could be seen was muscular and sturdy. Definitely not someone to pick a fight with. His facial features were rangy and stern, with several weeks worth of stubble gracing his square jaw. His hair was unruly and dark - though it was difficult to tell the exact colour in the bad light - and his eyes were a harsh grey, with the same ruthless intensity about them as the ex-assassin's. The eyes of a killer.   
  
He'd said nothing in response to Rogue's gawping. Just stood there, staring at her, expression inscrutable. Hadn't even looked at the other two.   
  
Then he spoke. His voice was gruff. Harsh. His tone hardened.  
  
"Put the sword down."  
  
Rogue nearly dropped her weapon. That voice had haunted her dreams for months. He sounded exactly the same as he had before...  
  
"I said, put it down."   
  
Rogue did as she was told - much to the surprise of Kitty and Kurt. Rogue taking orders? What was going on here?  
  
Rogue swallowed. "Logan? I thought you were.... I thought you were dead."  
  
One eyebrow arched at her. "Me? Dead? Be serious. You know me better than that, kid."  
  
"I.... I guess...." she trailed off, lost for words. She'd never been much of a conversationalist. 'Actions speak louder' was her motto, especially if said actions were the violent kind. But now....   
  
She cursed her tongue, wishing she could ask one of the hundred questions whirling in her brain, but at the same time unwilling to say a word lest she suddenly wake up and realise this was all a dream. It had happened before. She'd think everything was back to normal. Logan was alive and well, she was still with the Guild under her old name, and He was there. Him. The one who'd caused her more pain and hurt than anyone else in all of Earth-Realm....   
  
Then she'd awaken, covered in icy sweat and forced to face the world as it was. Cold. Alone. And without Logan or Him....  
  
"Kid?" Logan's voice snapped her from her thoughts.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Who are those two?"  
  
Rogue looked to where he gestured. To the huddled pair in the corner, staring at them through wary eyes.   
  
"Nobody important. Innocents."  
  
The eyebrow quirked at her again, interested. "Friends of yours?"  
  
"No!" Rogue replied, perhaps a little too quickly.  
  
"Then you want me to get rid of 'em?"  
  
The pair in the shadows huddled closer together, for all the good it would do them, and Kitty suppressed a squeak. Rogue sighed.  
  
"No. They're with me. Not friends, but with me."  
  
The eyebrow stayed aloft, indicating Logan's surprise and interest, but he said nothing more on the subject, instead beginning another, completely different sentence.  
  
"You oughta be more careful. That guy with the red hair was tracking you."  
  
Rogue nodded. She'd recognised the innkeeper's son. "I was careless. It won't happen again." Gods, it was just like when she was growing up. Constantly apologising for getting things wrong, then practising until she practically dropped dead to be good enough for his standards. Clinging to the sparse praise thrown her way, and feeling his sharp words more severely than any beating could ever hurt her.  
  
"It'd better not. Next time I might not be around to rescue your ass from the fire."  
  
"Logan," she raised her eyes, but couldn't bring herself to meet his stolid gaze. "How.... Why are you here."  
  
"Hidin' out," he answered shortly. "I ain't exactly flavour of the month with the Guild at the moment. Especially since they think I'm dead an' all. Real question is, why're you here? And with these two as well. Shouldn't you be on a mission or somethin'?"  
  
"I...." Rogue looked suddenly shameful, "Logan, I.... I'm not part of.... You see.... Something happened, and...." she verbally stumbled, starting a sentence, then switching to another, leaving numerous explanations hanging unfinished in the air. Finally she stopped, took a deep breath and blurted out: "Logan, I'm a Rogue now."  
  
He nodded, seemingly unfazed by her scandalous confession. "Thought so. There were rumours, but I was never sure. I shoulda guessed, really, when I saw you at the bar with those two." He jerked his thumb at Kitty and Kurt.  
  
Something clicked in Rogue's mind. "That was you? Watching us?" He nodded. "But why?"  
  
"I figured you'd come here at some point. Been waitin' for you for some time. Couldn't move very far on account o' bein' spotted, but I knew you'd turn up eventually. You're too predictable, kid. That's a major fault. You're being tracked I take it?" Now it was her turn to nod. "Then they'll probably know you'd come here too."  
  
A burst of familiar resentment fired up inside Rogue. Even when 'resurrected' Logan still acted like she was child. Still pointed out her faults with needle-like precision. She'd been on almost as many missions as him now, she knew when she was doing something wrong, yet he still insisted on making her shortcomings known to the world. Still treated her like she was some novice in the training area of headquarters. It had been years since she ceased her schooling with him, but he refused to let go of his role as her mentor.  
  
"Then we'll have to move out," she replied.  
  
"Nuh-uh. Not that easy I'm afraid," Logan shook his head soberly.   
  
Rogue was puzzled. "What's the big deal? We came in through the Eastern Gate; we can leave through the Western Gate. Bribe the Gatekeeper; be off before anyone notices us. Simple."  
  
Again, Logan shook his head. "I'm afraid you're already noticed, kid."  
  
She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"   
  
"Did you ever stop to wonder why that ginger guy from the bar was following you?" Rogue said nothing, unwilling to admit that she had not. Logan sighed the sigh of someone dealing with a small infant of limited intelligence.   
  
Inadvertently, Rogue's blood boiled. She'd worried about him. She'd regretted everything that happened and lost sleep over him when she thought he was dead. And this was all the thanks she got? Being treated like an idiot?  
  
Logan fumbled for something beneath his cloak. He was still wearing the same one-shoulder knapsack he'd always worn, she noticed. Another stab of the familiar to warp her world a little more.  
  
Kurt and Kitty watched the proceedings in silence. The entire conversation so far had been conducted in Common, but even so, they comprehended little of what was going on. Rogue knew this man, Logan, somehow - it had something to do with the Guild of Assassins, from what they could understand. Their discourse had an air of parent/child relationship, though it was just as savage as all conversations with Rogue. If possible, Logan was even terser than she was, and the on-looking pair sat motionless, trying not to attract any undue attention from either of the fierce duo.  
  
Logan extricated what he was looking for from his bag and held it up into the pale light.  
  
"*This* is what I mean."  
  
It was a scrap of paper, probably printed on one of those new fangled printing presses by the looks of it. On it were a few lines of scrawly text accompanied by a sketchy picture. Kurt strained his odd eyes to see what it depicted, and gave short intake of breath when he did.  
  
"It's her. Rogue. Dass ist her picture."  
  
Logan's steely gaze shifted over to them for a moment, before swivelling back to Rogue. "Do you know what this is?"  
  
"It's a poster."  
  
"Wrong. It's a *wanted* poster. Of you. They're all over this city, and probably other places have them too. They went up today. Probably the news arrived through a Seeing Portal or some such malarkey. That'd explain how it got here so fast, considering. There's a*big* price riding on your head, kid, and everybody knows about it. It's not just the Guild who're after you now. Everyone's gonna want a piece of the famous Rogue of The Assassins."  
  
Rogue blinked, puzzled. "But.... why?" She could understand why the Guild wanted her dead. She was the only one with the audacity to defy the laws that governed their ancient association, and thus was a danger to their social structure. They couldn't have an ex-assassin running around. There were too many carefully guarded secrets she might spill for them to allow her to live outside their jurisdiction. But a bounty on her head? That wasn't the Guild's style at all.   
  
Logan sighed that infuriating sigh again. "You're wanted for the murder of a seer near the village of Padra. The body was found by one of her clients earlier today. Some people from the nearby village gave a description of you going up there beforehand. They said you had weapons and were acting suspiciously, and the authorities put two an two together."  
  
A strangled cry burst from the shadows. Both man and girl immediately spun round to see the cause of it, hands flying to their respective weapons with practised ease - although Rogue was perhaps marginally quicker than her former tutor.  
  
The cry had come from Kurt, who now clutched at Kitty's arm, golden eyes wide and staring at Logan in horror. His mouth opened and shut intermittently like a fish, and he weakly croaked out, "Padra? Did you say Padra?"  
  
Logan glanced at Rogue, and she nodded for him to reply; that it was safe for him to talk to the elf.  
  
"Yeah," Logan asserted, warily. "What of it?"   
  
Kurt's grip of Kitty's arm tightened, and she squirmed slightly, but didn't protest. Something was wrong. Something terrible.  
  
"The name...." he murmured. "What was the seer's name?"  
  
Logan thought for a moment. "I don't know for sure - " he began.  
  
"Please!" Kurt sounded desperate, and there was a distraught look in his eyes.   
  
Logan saw it, and searched his memory for what he'd overheard in the bar between the two men who had been discussing their luck at going after the highly-priced game. A name surfaced in his mind. It sounded stupid, but maybe it was what the weird looking furry kid was after.  
  
"I think.... it was something showy. Like a performer's name. Music? Mystic? Something like that."  
  
The unhappy cry came again, louder this time. Like the keening wail of a wolf, but with twice the agonised sorrow embed in its haunting tone.   
  
"Mystique. Her name was Mystique."  
  
"Yeah, that was it," Logan agreed. Kurt emitted another piercing moan. "What's wrong with him?" The older man asked of his old pupil.   
  
"She was my mother!" Kurt wept, tears leaking from his eyes and running through his dusty cerulean fur. "Meine Mutter! She was my mother!"  
  
Kitty stroked his arm gently, attempting - unsuccessfully - to soothe him with her voice. "Shhh, it's OK, Kurt. It's alright."  
  
"No it's not!" Kurt spat vehemently. "There must be some mistake. It has to be a mistake. She can't be dead. I was talking to her just after you left, Rogue. She was fine then. She was happy. She can't just be dead!"  
  
"No mistake, elf," Logan answered callously, disregarding the boy's patent distress at the news. "You got the proof right here." He held up the wanted poster with its telltale scrawl. Kurt's head jerked up, eyes flashing.  
  
"Then I'll destroy the proof!"   
  
In a single bound he was across the room, and had snatched the paper from Logan's hand. He then sprang effortlessly into the rafters of the building and proceeded to shred it into a multitude of miniscule pieces that fell like transmuted snow around them. A strange, high-pitched laugh escaped his lips. "No more proof. All gone. Everything's better now. It never happened."  
  
"Kurt," Kitty called up after him. "Kurt, come down. Please."  
  
"It never happened," Kurt repeated with a distinctly unstable edge to his voice. "She's not dead. She's waiting for me to come home. She'll be so pleased when I go home and tell her about all my adventures. It was her who told me to travel with Rogue, you know. Oh yes, she'll want to know all about it. She doesn't get out much. Not even to go further into the forest, just stays at home and waits for me to come and tell her what I've been doing. But she never minds. Not while I'm around to keep her informed." He continued blathering ramblingly, refusing to believe what he was hearing.  
  
Logan frowned. He'd seen this before, many times. Shock at the sudden death of someone close did funny things to a person, and he'd even known bereaved individuals to take their own live in the throes of grief before now. The boy was exhibiting all the symptoms of shock, as well as denial. If they weren't careful, who knows what he might do. Rogue couldn't afford any undue attention right now.  
  
"Hey, kid! Get your fuzzy ass down here pronto," he ordered gruffly.   
  
Kurt took not the slightest bit of notice, instead carrying on cheerfully shredding the wanted poster and mumbling about how wonderful his mother was, and how she always listened to him, and how she'd wanted him to see the world, and all manner of other frivolous things besides.   
  
"Kaju!" Logan muttered beneath his breath.  
  
Kitty tried her luck again. "Kurt. Kurt, please. Please come down from there. It's not safe. I'm pretty sure those beams are rotten. It's dangerous, Kurt. Please come down. You're, like, scaring me."  
  
"Look, I've made things better," Kurt stated gleefully, ignoring what she'd said and tossing a handful of the mutilated paper-pieces down onto their heads. "No more poster. No more proof. No more silly untruths about my mother."  
  
"Fine. Now will you, like, come down?"  
  
"Maybe," Kurt swung himself higher, making it quite clear that he intended to stay up there.  
  
"Look, elf - " Logan started.  
  
"Leave it," Rogue sighed wearily. "He'll come down when he's ready. In the meantime, we can't force him. We'd probably kill ourselves trying."  
  
"But - " Kitty tried to protest. They couldn't just, like, leave him. What if he fell? What if he never came down? What if....  
  
"Shrimp, I said no. Leave it," Rogue ordered in a warning voice.   
  
Kitty pouted ever so slightly, and gave Kurt one last glance before resuming her place in the corner. She didn't feel safe standing amidst the two ex-assassins, no matter what she was told otherwise.   
  
Kurt was too busy grooming his tail and spouting the virtues of his mother to pay her any heed. There was something weird about his voice. It was shrill and panicky. Not at all Kurt-like. Perhaps Rogue was right. Perhaps it was better to leave him to come down on his own.   
  
Abruptly, Kitty shook her head as she realised just what she was doing.  
  
~Did I just, like, agree with her?~  
  
Rogue turned back to Logan. ~Time to change the subject,~ she thought. She was pretty shocked about seeing her face on a wanted poster too, but deemed it unwise to exhibit her own concerns if they wanted the elf down any time soon.  
  
"Logan, why *are* you here?" she returned to the previous topic. Neutral ground for the fuzzball. No emotional attachments for him in this conversation.  
  
"I told you, kid. I'm hidin'," Logan replied, a little annoyed at having to repeat himself.  
  
Rogue stared levelly at him. "Y'all are lying," she stated, almost coldly.  
  
For a moment he seemed lost for words, and turned aside his grey eyes, his lie discovered. Rogue continued to stare steadily at him.   
  
Something in his averted gaze aroused a memory in the back of her mind. A niggling that had plagued her since his disappearance so many months ago. Death on a mission, she'd been told. Cut down in the line of duty. A noble death for an assassin. Yet something hadn't seemed right. There had been something going on at the time. Something political that Logan was heavily involved in. She hadn't taken much notice back then, being too caught up in her own affairs. That is, until the news of his death reached her. Shortly after that she'd been forced to flee the Guild completely, and all musings concerning this strange niggling had been buried beneath the basic need for survival as she was cast out into the world.   
  
Now though, the niggling had returned with a vengeance, pushing and tugging at the fringes of her mind like some annoying insect. Forcing her to remember. To think back to the time when she left. Something important was being discussed then. Something that involved the fate of all assassins....  
  
Abruptly it came it her, and her dark eyes widened as she realised at last what she should have known so long ago.  
  
"Oh gods! They did it, didn't they? The crazy Pebehocks actually did it?"   
  
Logan nodded gravely. Rogue could only snort in disgust. "I can't believe the Guild would be that *stupid*! To join with the Silver Sword, it's .... it's just plain ludicrous! Don't the council know what'll happen?"  
  
"Oh, they know all right," Logan growled. "Trouble is, the council don't care. They don't mind being just puppet rulers, as long as they're financed and kept in comfort. Things were getting a little too hot for them. People weren't happy with they way the Guild was being run any more. There were uprisings. Riots. They could have stopped it themselves with a little time and effort, but they took the coward's way out. Let the Silver Sword's forces do their dirty work for them. As long as they're cared for and well fed they don't give a damn who governs the Guild. Fools that they are! I tried to tell them, tried to warn them, but they just wouldn't listen."  
  
"So that's why you...." Rogue's voice petered out, her mind making yet another connection it should have made long ago. "They tried to kill you?"  
  
"Uh-huh. Seems I was dangerous to their plans. Kept stirrin' people up, you see. I was one of the few who actually saw what the Silver Sword would do if he got his greedy hands around the Guild's throat, and the council didn't like that one bit. Kinda ironic really, an assassin bein' assassinated."  
  
"But what.... how did you survive?"  
  
Logan transferred his gaze back to her questioning face. "I can't believe you actually just asked me that."  
  
Rogue looked away, embarrassed to have forgotten.   
  
Logan was a Wolverinnen - an ancient race of beings, once covering the lands but now bordering extinction. Very few remained in the world, despite their uncanny knack of surviving almost anything and everything thrown their way.  
  
In the pause that followed, an embarrassed cough sounded out. Female. Young. Both mentor and ex-student turned to look.  
  
"Like, excuse for interrupting and all - I mean that too; this is, like, the most I've heard you talk since, like, forever, Rogue - but can I ask something? Like, what exactly is the Silver Sword? And what's so bad about it?"  
  
Kitty's only reply was a disgusted look from Logan at her ignorance and audacity. Rogue had once again resumed her expression of cold indifference, though when she spoke her voice told otherwise. Kurt's voice floated down from somewhere overhead.  
  
"Silver Sword. Pretty Sword. But not as pretty as meine Mutti."  
  
Rogue blatantly ignored both of them, instead directing her next words at Logan and reverting to Gehín to keep their dialogue private. It had taken her so long to construct telling him what she was about to say, and she'd rehearsed it endless times in her head, even though she knew she'd probably never be able to actually tell him. She took a deep breath, drawing on her training to keep her voice steady.  
  
"Logan, Ik.... Ohn.... Aeth Riubram nipkas mik du yochbat. Hu.... hu ik kudnt. Ik xanb. Ik nju okoro Yohnua, hu ik...."  
  
"Xopomo," he held up a hand, silencing her. "Ik krij cyhtat aladel. Gadil uht ohn hikya?"  
  
She nodded. "Ik xanb. Ik il danelb."  
  
He shook his head, not unkindly. "Xopomo. You're a lot stronger then I gave you credit for, kid. In your mind *and* in your body. *Especially* your body. How'd you manage to get up from that neck-tweak earlier? That used to be enough to knock you out for at least a half hour."  
  
"Like ya'll said, I'm a lot stronger now. I have to be."  
  
Logan's expression hardened. "I'm sorry, kid. This is my fault."  
  
"Nah, I'm the one who couldn't follow orders. Although I'll admit, if it happened over, I'd do it again in an instant." The ghost of a smile played across her dark lips. Logan wasn't so easily pacified.  
  
"Still, I can at least help you get Them off your tail. The council's no doubt sent the best of their crop after you, so they definitely won't be very far away, I'm certain. You've managed to do all right avoiding Them so far."  
  
"It hasn't been easy," Rogue shrugged, "The council's little hunting party are a very determined bunch. I almost bought it a coupla' times, but no biggie. I had the advantage. None of them were ever trained by you."  
  
Rogue wasn't exactly a master of compliments, and her feeble attempt elicited a faint twitch from the corners of Logan's mouth. He may have actually smiled, had it not been for the piercing screech that suddenly split the air around them.  
  
"You!"   
  
A bolt of blue dropped from the ceiling, coming to rest between them, in front of Rogue, and landing with cat-like agility at her feet. "You!" Kurt spat again. His voice was harsh. Gone were the high-pitched denial and the cheerful easy banter alike. Twin pools of molten gold glared at her, filled with something she'd never seen in them before. More than anger, it wavered somewhere between hate and pain, tinged with a sadness beyond anything she could imagine. Well, almost anything....  
  
His tail lashed, sending up a cloud of dust from the floor. He still hadn't arisen from where he'd landed in a crouch, feet and tridactyl hands tucked neatly under his body.  
  
"It was you," his voice dropped to a low growl, rumbling deep in his throat like a snarling dog. He sounded dangerously inhuman. It was as if someone else was looking at her through his eyes. Staring out from beneath the folds of cerulean fur, using the characteristically friendly face as a mask. Twisting it. Distorting it until it was almost beyond recognition. Rogue blinked. The elf looked so.... different. Wild.   
  
"What was me?" On instinct, her hand strayed to her sword beneath her cloak. The elf it may be, but something was wrong with him. Something that involved her, and she had a sneaking suspicion that she knew what it was.  
  
"It was *your* fault," he said slowly. "*Your* fault. I talked to her after you left, but you don't need to use your own hand to commit murder. It was still you. You killed her."   
  
Without warning he sprang at the older girl, barrelling into her and nearly knocking her off her feet. But Rogue was ready for him. She hadn't survived so long with the Guild's best on her heels without learning a few survival tricks. Like sensing when someone was about to attack, and knowing how to stay standing when they struck. She shrugged off his advance, letting him fly over her back to twist neatly in the air and land behind her.  
  
Logan took a step forward, but Kurt was attacking again. Faster than the eye could see he'd sprung at Rogue once more. She spun round to face him, only a few seconds too slow. He slammed into her chest, driving the breath from her lungs. An incongruous thought popped unannounced into her mind.  
  
~Whoa! For a little guy, he sure can pack a wallop!~  
  
She stumbled backwards, miraculously remaining upright. She could hear Kitty scrambling to her feet, calling out the elf's name, telling him to stop. But he didn't.   
  
Ostensibly swifter then the wind itself, the furry boy had launched himself at the ex-assassin's side, driving at her full force, intending to floor her and pin her down. Rogue anticipated the move, spinning into it and turning it against him. Her shoulder connected with his, sending him spinning backwards with her superior force. He stumbled, a fatal mistake that Rogue took full advantage of.   
  
Dropping into a combat squat, she swung her foot out, knocking his oddly shaped legs out from under him and sending his slender body crashing to the floor. A haze of dust flew up into the air on impact, covering everything with a fine mist of powder and blue fur.  
  
Kurt was fast. Rogue was faster. Before he could even move she was crouched over him, sword blade pressed to his throat. He stared up at her, choler blazing in his face.  
  
"Are you going to kill me now? Just like you killed my mother?"  
  
"I didn't kill her," Rogue corrected softly, "Y'all said it yourself - she was still alive after I left. How could I kill her if I wasn't even there?"  
  
"You were being followed," Kurt choked out, his voice catching slightly in his maw, "By assassins! Trained killers. You led them there, to our home. It's your fault. *Your* fault!"  
  
Rogue sighed. "Yes, I was being followed. But I didn't know they'd go that far. I just thought they'd frighten you two a bit. I didn't know they'd kill her. It's not usually their style to leave bodies around for people to find."  
  
Kurt gave a yelp at her words. A broken cry, shot through with misery and hurt. It rose into the air like a fluttering, injured bird, snaking into the ears of all assembled and cutting loudly through the atmosphere like a knife.   
  
Rogue shushed him, conscious that he was far too loud given their current circumstances. She glanced up, half expecting someone to walk through the door-less doorway in response to the noise of their brief scuffle, despite knowing that they were in a virtually uninhabited part of Cheapside.  
  
"She knew," Kurt gulped, all the anger vanishing from his face, to be replaced by pure, unadulterated wretchedness. "She knew," he said again.  
  
"What?" Rogue gritted, considering putting a hand across his mouth to silence his piercing wailing. Her sword involuntarily pressed closer to the spot where his lifeblood pulsed and flowed, before she remembered herself and pulled it away again.  
  
Unnoticed to her, Logan raised an eyebrow at the uncommonly merciful action.   
  
Kurt's thin chest shuddered as a sob wracked his body. From one extreme to the other, he switched from the persona of a vengeful demon to a whimpering child. The pitiful sight tweaked at Kitty's heartstrings, and she said thickly:  
  
"Let him up."  
  
Logan stared incredulously at her. "Whaddaya mean, 'let him up'? He damn well tried to kill her a second ago. She should slit his gizzard and be done with it."  
  
"No, Logan. She's right," Rogue murmured.   
  
Now it was Kitty's turn to gape. ~Did she just, like, agree with me? Is she, like, sick or something?~  
  
With a 'snikt' of metal, Rogue sheathed her blade in its scabbard at her waist and straightened up.   
  
Kurt remained where he'd fallen, juddering sporadically as sob after sob sped through him. Rogue extended her hand, but he didn't take it. Tears appeared at the corners of his eyes and began running down the side of his head, mixing with the dust to become filthy rivulets in his fur.   
  
"She knew! She knew!" he kept saying, over and over. "She knew, and she didn't tell me. She made me leave her. Oh gods, I left her all alone."  
  
Rogue stepped back. She'd never been good at emotional outbursts, as her tactless words showed only too well, but she knew someone who was.   
  
Sure enough, a small figure slipped forward and past her to kneel beside the elfin youth, stroking his cheek and crooning quietly at him. Kurt reached up and caught Kitty's wrist.   
  
"She knew," he said again, voice breaking and tripping over the syllables.  
  
"Knew?" Kitty repeated, wiping one dirty rivulet away with her own pallid hand.  
  
Kurt nodded. "She knew they were coming. She was a seer; she had to know. And she sent me away, where I couldn't protect her."  
  
"She must have really loved you to do that," Kitty whispered gently, some innate sense telling her exactly the right thing to say. "She wanted you to be safe."  
  
"But I wasn't there to protect her. I'm her *son*. I'm meant to look out for her. She was my *mother*," Kurt wept, tightening his grip on the girl's wrist. "She must have stayed so they wouldn't follow me. She was trying to protect me. I should have been there for her. It's my fault too."  
  
"No! It's not your fault, Kurt. If anyone's to blame, it's the Guild's hunting party. Not Rogue, and especially not you," the blue-eyed girl gave a wan smile. "Hey, it's alright to let it all out. I know what it's like to lose family, remember? It's OK, it's OK."   
  
She prattled ceaselessly at him as he cried himself out. Every so often he let out a deafening moan that set both ex-assassins' nerves on edge and sent their eyes wandering nervously to the gaping doorway.  
  
Rogue couldn't help herself. The sight was just too pitiable. She tried to fight it, but somehow she felt sorry for the fuzzy elf. He was annoying and incredibly irritating, but he didn't deserve this. He especially didn't deserve to find out about his own mother's death second-hand. Concurrently, she felt pity for him and disgust at herself. Strange feelings battled for supremacy in her psyche, and she was torn between their divergent voices.   
  
He looks so pathetic.   
  
You're weak, letting your emotions get the better of you.   
  
He never did anything to harm anyone.   
  
You should have killed him when you had the chance. The shrimp too.  
  
He's in pain.   
  
He's a liability.  
  
What was wrong with her? She'd never had problems like this before. Everything had been clear-cut before. Black and white. You went on a mission, removed the target and went home to praise and food. Simple. But now the world was filled with various shades of grey, and nothing made sense anymore. How could she feel sorry for the elf when everything she'd even been taught went against doing so? Why had she spared his life yet again? He'd been in her power, laid low by his own rampant emotions. Proof that emotions were dangerous. They made you vulnerable. They made you weak. They made you easy prey.   
  
So why was she suddenly feeling things she'd never felt before?  
  
Pity.  
  
Empathy.  
  
Mercy.  
  
These weren't her traits. These weren't the qualities of an assassin.  
  
But you're not an assassin anymore, remember? Her almost-conscience gave her the mental equivalent of a slap across the face. You're an outcast. A Rogue. *The* Rogue.  
  
~Does that mean I'm forgetting everything I was ever taught?~ she asked it, not really expecting an answer. How could one insignificant elf and his annoying ditzy little friend turn around sixteen years of harsh training and life experience?  
  
Her question, like so many others, was to go unanswered. For at that moment she heard something that chilled the blood in her veins and caused her ears to strain in order to make sure she wasn't imagining it.   
  
She wasn't.  
  
Voices.  
  
Advancing towards them, down the alley outside. Rogue froze as she recognised the son of the innkeeper's sharp tone from the brief snippet of conversation in 'The Copper Cow'. He wasn't alone either. Other voices crowded with his. Many voices, all sounding hostile.   
  
They were coming towards them, fast. An animated muttering ran through the alien group, and she thought she could see the faint glow of rag-torches reflected off the wall opposite the entrance to their hideaway.  
  
Logan was at her side in a flash, sword silently drawn. Kitty stared up at her, fear patently obvious in her sparkling blue eyes. Kurt still lay on the floor snivelling. Rogue motioned that Kitty should silence him quickly, before he gave their position away.  
  
Too late. Apparently lost in the throes of his grief, the elf hadn't noticed the advancing voices - no doubt belonging to would-be bounty hunters the innkeeper's son had come across and recruited, searching for them in the warren of alleyways. Kurt opened his mouth, revealing sharp white fangs, and let out another shrill, keening wail. The voices outside picked up, excited. The sound acted as an aural signpost, and they headed towards it, any weapons they had at the ready.   
  
Logan's muscles visibly tensed, as did Rogue's, and a single fervent utterance escaped his lips as he watched the doorway become steadily brighter from the echoed glow of approaching rag-torches.  
  
"Yept! They found us!"  
  
*******************  
  
To Be Continued.......  
  
*******************  
  
TRANSLATIONS  
  
*GERMANIC*  
Es ist riesig. ~ It's huge.  
Ich hatte keine Idee. ~ I had no idea.  
Es tut mir leid. ~ I apologise.  
Das Rückenhaus. ~ The back house.  
Ich wußte, daß Sie konnten nicht mir widerstehen. ~ I knew that you couldn't resist me.   
Was ist los? ~ What's wrong?  
Meine Mutter/Mutti! ~ My Mother/Mummy!  
  
*GEHíN*   
Pebehock(s)! ~ Bastard(s)!  
Ik krij cyhtat aladel. ~ It was my decision.  
Xopomo. ~ S'alright.  
Gadil uht ohn hikya? ~ How you been holding out?  
Ik xanb. ~ I'm sorry.   
Yept! ~ Shit!  
  
A/N ~ Gehín is a colourful language, no? Though they seem to favour blue. 


	6. Escape

DISCLAIMER: X-Men: Evo belongs to Warner Bros. And Marvel Comics. I have never, and shall never own them, no matter how much I may want to. I've simply warped them to fit my own twisted mind. However, this fic and any original work herein is officially mine, and anyone trying to steal it will find out how painful a weapon a computer mouse can when used by someone with imagination.  
  
WARNINGS: This is an AU (Alternative Universe) fic. Everything has been transplanted into a fantasy universe of my creation. Inspirations, despite what you might initially think, aren't actually from a certain Peter-Jackson-esque film, since I started work on this before I ever *saw* that movie. Influences rather include InterNutter's spiffy fic 'Mein Teuful' (if you haven't yet read this then go do it *now*!) and various other sources I'll explain later.  
  
CODES:   
Hello = Narration  
~ Hello ~ = Thought  
"Hello" = Character Speaking  
*Hello* = Bold  
//Hello// = Psychic communication  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: MyPlague, yes I *did* create Gehin solely for use in this fic. It can be derived from various languages I've studied over the years, including German, French, Russian, Portuguese and a smattering of Japanese (that's what comes of having your school change into to a language college right beneath your feet.) I don't really remember much of what I studied, but I still have the dictionaries, and the grammar was hammered into me so hard I can still feel the spot where the nail went in. Ooch! Lyra, glad to have amused you. I must say, that line made me laugh even as I typed it. ^_^  
  
This chapter is basically the point at which the main body of the story comes into play, so keep your eyes peeled, k?   
  
*******************  
  
'Of Beast And Blade' By Scribbler  
Chapter Four ~ 'Escape'  
  
*******************  
  
'Painful as it may be, a significant emotional event can be the catalyst for choosing a direction that serves us -- and those around us -- more effectively. Look for the learning.' -- Eric Allenbaugh  
  
*******************  
  
"Yept! They found us!" Logan growled.  
  
Kitty whimpered. "What do we do?"   
  
Rogue glanced at the elf, curled into a foetal position on the ground, shuddering softly with muted sobs. His eyes were closed, and had it not been for the spasms erratically wracking his slender frame one might have thought he was only sleeping.  
  
"We need to get outta here, now!" she stated fiercely.  
  
"Kid, we can take 'em - " Logan began, but his former pupil cut him off.  
  
"*We* may be able to, but *they* can't," she gestured to the two younger adolescents. "Besides, we don't even know how many of them there are. First rule you ever taught me; know your enemy."  
  
Logan looked as if he was about to argue, but instead he set his jaw and nodded. Rogue hastily cast about the dark room. Damn! There was no exit other than the one the innkeeper's son and his posse were approaching.  
  
Kitty watched her through agitated blue eyes, making the connection between the older girl's movements and their predicament.  
  
"There's no way out, is there? We're, like, trapped."  
  
"Not necessarily," Logan smiled. A small, somewhat irreverent smile, like he knew a secret he wasn't telling. "Second rule I taught ya, kid - if caught, improvise."  
  
Both Kitty and Rogue looked confused. Even more so when the cloaked man walked sedately over to the rear wall. He acted nonchalantly. Infuriatingly so. Didn't he know there were people coming? People who would kill them and bring their heads back on pikes as proof without so much as a second thought. How could he act so calm at a time like this?  
  
Logan promptly answered their silent question. A loud 'shink' of scraping metal reverberated around the cramped room, and he raised a fist above his head. In between each of his knuckles was a long, wickedly sharp blade, strangely devoid of blood considering they'd just exited his flesh. The unbreakable claws that defined his ancient race.   
  
"Wolverinnen...." Kitty breathed in amazement. She couldn't believe it. She'd thought they were only a myth. But her awed whisper was lost in the sound of crumbling bricks and mortar, as with one fluid movement Logan shoved his blades right though the wall. The dilapidated stonework crumbled like pastry, leaving a large hole where solid partition once stood.  
  
Logan glanced over his shoulder. "Presto. Instant exit."  
  
Rogue didn't waste any time. Pulling up her hood, and with a brisk: "Move" to Kitty, she slung the elf's still incapacitated-by-weeping form over her shoulder and sped out of the makeshift door. Kitty followed, hustled along ungraciously by Logan, and the four of them ran down the darkened street like a pack of hellhounds were snapping at their heels.  
  
When they were several streets away, Logan's sensitive ears picked up an incensed shout from the building they'd just vacated. He would have smiled, but his indignance at fleeing overruled his capacity to show pleasure. He couldn't understand why they were running away like cowards. He *knew* he and the kid could take them. Hell, he'd *trained* her. She'd been his best student. She could probably take that whole sorry bunch out by herself if she wanted to. It wasn't as if they were armed enough to pose much of a threat to a skilled assassin. Bludgeons, torches, a couple of rusty blades - he'd smelled them when they were still in the building. Nothing she couldn't handle.   
  
Yet she'd run. The pupil he'd known never would have done that. Then again, neither would she have taken a couple of superfluous brats with her either. That was compassionate. The girl he'd known didn't *do* compassion.  
  
They rounded a corner, stampeding down the relatively silent street in a broken single-file. Logan glanced behind them. He'd heard another shout from their pursuers that sounded distinctly like; "They went that way! Let's get 'em!" He transferred his gaze back to Rogue, pelting ahead of them at the front of their straggly line. This was all well and good, but where exactly did she expect to go? Half the city knew her face by now. He knew this place better than she did. He knew precisely where they should go, and the least populated route to get there.  
  
"Kid!" he called mutedly, taking a tremendous risk by raising his voice for her to hear. "Kid, wait!"  
  
Rogue skidded to a stop. "What?"  
  
"I got an idea. Go left and do exactly what I tell ya."  
  
She complied, and via a barrage of directions from her former mentor, the unusual party soon found themselves at the edge of Cheapside. Here they halted, deciding what to do next.   
  
The street they were in was largely abandoned, with only a few tumbledown dwellings a little further up that the poorer members of Zanninsan society resided in. Logan hustled them all into the lee of one such abandoned construction, which afforded them slight cover behind the veritable mountain of garbage piled around it.  
  
"So what's this plan?" Rogue demanded.  
  
"First things first," Logan replied. "There's some things you gotta know about. I've been waitin' to tell you for months. I ain't gonna let some poxy wannabe bounty-hunters stop me now."  
  
Kitty stared at him, her aghast expression concealed by darkness. Here they were, hiding from folks who wanted to *kill* them, and he wanted to *talk*? She began to seriously doubt the sanity of anyone called 'ex-assassin'.  
  
Logan leaned in close, voice dropping to a low whisper, emphasising every point he made with a wave of the metal claws he had yet to retract back into his body. "Listen close, 'cause I ain't gonna say this twice. It's about The Silver Sword. When the council was still thinkin' about allying the Guild with him, I found out about a few things I'd rather not have known, and which proved to be the final straw in their decision to get rid of me. I knew too much. Rumour had it that he was messin' with powerful magic, tryin' to control it himself. I don't know if it was successful, but I do know what it meant for the rest of the lands. You may've noticed that strange things have been happenin' lately. Weird weather patterns, animals behaving oddly, stuff like that. It's all outta whack."  
  
Rogue nodded, thinking of the chimera and its unusual behaviour. ~The shrimp said chimeras are pack animals, and live deeper in the Black Forest than where we found it. I wonder, could that be connected to what Logan says?~  
  
He continued, unabated. "There's even been tell of traits from other races turning up in *humans* of all things. Perfectly normal people suddenly finding they can do extraordinary things. A few weeks ago I came across a guy right here in the city that could fly. Levitate himself clean off the ground. There's been a lot of gossip about similar incidents all over the different lands. They've even got their own name now; Changelings."  
  
Kitty gasped, and clamped her hands over her mouth. "M... me," was all she could stammer. "That's just like what happened to me! I'm a... a... Changeling!"  
  
Logan grunted. "See what I mean? And it's getting' worse. Changelings poppin' up all over the place, docile beasts goin' wild and killing everything in sight, storm-clouds raining in the desert. It's like the fibres of the universe are changin' somehow. And I reckon - no matter what anybody else says - it can all be traced back to The Silver Sword. It *has* to be."  
  
"So what are ya'll telling me this for?" Rogue asked impatiently. Couldn't he just get to the bit involving this 'plan' of his?  
  
"'Cause it's all stuff you need to know, kid. You have to be aware of what's out there when you're travellin'. Earth-Realm's alterin' right under our noses, and if we wanna stay alive in it then we gotta know what's goin' on. Third rule I taught you; adapt to survive."  
  
"And where exactly will I be travelling to? Unless you hadn't noticed, there's a price on my head bigger than a king's ransom. Every Tom, Dick and Harry around wants a piece of me now," Rogue pointed out in an exasperated tone.  
  
By contrast, Logan was gallingly calm. "You're gonna get your ass to Belvedere."  
  
Rogue very nearly exploded. "Belvedere? You expect me to just walk right in to The Silver Sword's stronghold? Why would I do that? I didn't stay alive this long just to go on some crazy kamikaze mission you cooked up."  
  
Logan's composed façade didn't slip an inch. "Something big's goin' down there, and whatever it is, it's happenin' soon."  
  
"So why send me?"  
  
"Because I know you'll wanna go."  
  
"What makes you think that?"  
  
"Because Pietro's there."   
  
A piercing arrow, tip dipped in venom, speared Rogue's chest as his callous words found their mark.   
  
Pietro?   
  
Kitty stole a look at Rogue's face in the moonlight. The older girl looked like a herd of stampeding cattle had just run her down. Her mouth hung slightly open, and her harsh green eyes had taken on a glazed appearance, like that of one in a dream. In all, she seemed shell-shocked. An expression that the young Changeling found simultaneously intriguing and chilling.  
  
Logan suddenly raised his head. Kitty could have sworn she saw his ears twitch, and he turned back to the trio of youngsters, dark eyes serious.  
  
"They're comin', and they've got others with 'em. Lots."  
  
Rogue seemed incapable of answering, so Kitty did it for her. "How many"  
  
"Enough."  
  
"What should we do?"  
  
"Get to the Western Gate like the kid said. Get out of Zanninsa as soon as you can. Bribe the Gatekeeper if you have to, and if he won't take it then...." he raised his claws, not needing words to make his meaning clear. Kitty gulped and nodded, more out of fear than actual concurrence.  
  
"I understand."  
  
"Kid," he transferred his attention back to the stunned Rogue. "Kid, listen to me. This is real important. Promise me you'll go to Belvedere. Got it? Promise me."  
  
For a moment she didn't move, then her eyelids blinked, and she slid back into the world of the waking again. "I promise. But Logan, aren't you coming too?"  
  
"Nuh-uh. I'm gonna draw those guys off, give you a chance to get away."  
  
She leaned forward and said earnestly. "Logan, come with us."  
  
He shook his head. "No, kid. Not this time. You go on. I'll cover your back."   
  
"But - " she began.  
  
He stood up, effectively cutting her off. "I said no, kid. You need a diversion, and since neither of these two would last more then five seconds against that crowd, I'm it." He waved a callous claw at Kitty and Kurt, who was curled up on the floor where Rogue had dumped him upon arrival, silently crying. It was a wonder how he had any tears left now.  
  
Rogue stared up at the abrasive man. The man who had essentially raised her, trained her, made her who she was today. "Thank you."  
  
"Xopomo." With that, he turned to go.   
  
Rogue stood, making to heft the elf back onto her shoulder again, when suddenly Logan swivelled back to look at her. His face was inquisitive as he remembered something he'd seen earlier. Something that had bothered him, but which had never come up in conversation. His gaze fell upon her boot, where a certain telltale bulge should have been present, but wasn't.  
  
"Where's your knife?"  
  
"Lost it on a chimera."  
  
Logan rolled his eyes heavenwards. "You're slippin'. Here, take this." Grabbing her arm, he pressed something into her hand.  
  
Rogue stared down at the small blade in her palm, perfectly cut and honed to a wafer-thin edge that could cut steel without the bearer even breaking into a sweat. At the hilt, the snarling muzzle of a wolverine had been fashioned, so intricately detailed that one could almost believe its slavering jaws would clamp down on any fingers that strayed too close. Polished metal was its coarse fur, blood-red rubies its burning eyes. She gaped at it.   
  
"Your hunting knife? Logan, I can't take this."  
  
"Like I really need it," he shot back, flexing his hand and claws to illustrate his point. "I only kept it around for decoration. You'll make much better use of it then I ever could. Now go!"  
  
Rogue stared at him a moment longer, and then - with an obedience reminiscent of her days as his pupil - collected the elf on her shoulder, mumbling to Kitty: "Let's go," before moving out.   
  
Logan watched her go. Unbidden, an old Gehín farewell sprang to his lips. "Gah lej, gah kef, vinel euhr Harun dim tageth."  
  
Rogue heard his words, but her steps didn't falter. She didn't turn back. She didn't acknowledge him. With practised ease her ice-queen exterior slid into place, and to all who saw her it was as though he meant nothing. Nothing at all. She couldn't care less that he was taking the brunt of what was meant for her. She was The Rogue. Such things were meaningless and trivial - beneath her concern. She didn't care.   
  
Kitty scuttled after the striding girl, chancing a glance at Logan before following her into the unknown, hostile night.   
  
The Wolverinnen stood, until he could see them no more. The sounds of their pursuers rang in his sensitive ears. They were getting closer, but no matter. He could easily deal with them.   
  
His fighter's spirit, unlike that of a normal assassin, had been borne to him down through the ages from his ancestors far in the dim and distant past, and now it positively simmered at the prospect of a good fight. It had been so long. He was going to enjoy this. And afterwards, he'd leave the city. Go south where he'd heard tell of a resistance group against the creeping power of The Silver Sword. They could probably find a use for someone like him.   
  
For now, however, there was combat at hand, and he'd be damned if he was going to miss a single second of it.  
  
Logan spun on his heel, leaping out from behind the pile of wastage and speeding down the street where he could hear the clumsy battle cries of the innkeeper's son and his band of hastily recruited and untrained seekers. ~Let them try their luck at a *real* hunter,~ he grinned.  
  
Oh yes, he was going to enjoy this.  
  
*******************  
  
Kitty pattered after Rogue, stumbling over mounds of unidentifiable garbage in the inky darkness as she tried to keep up. Kurt hung uselessly across the former assassin's shoulder, hands trailing, not even attempting to steady himself on his precarious perch. Intermittently she could hear him mumbling, though she couldn't understand what he said.  
  
"Warum taten sie es? Warum? Ich könnte Ihnen geholfen haben. Warum sendeten Sie mich weg? Sie wußten, daß sie kamen, und doch Sie mich weg sendeten."  
  
He sounded so pathetic, and her heart wrenched in her chest. She knew the pain of losing someone you loved - two someones in fact. It was the worst kind of pain imaginable by a mortal. Worse than actual, physical agony, because that abated after a while. Loss was intangible, and all the more potent for it.  
  
They reached the end of the street and turned onto a busier one. 'Das Rückenhaus' flashed past, gaudy music blaring from the doorway and dancing girls still prancing scantily within.  
  
There were more people on the streets now as the city slowly began to waken. Not enough to form any sort of a crowd, but enough to worry Kitty about being spotted and recognised.  
  
The trio snaked through the alleyways, leaving Cheapside far behind them and journeying into the more affluent areas of Zanninsa.   
  
At a set of crossroads Rogue paused, delineating which way to go. Kitty took the opportunity to draw as close she dared and whisper angrily in the older girl's ear. "What about Mr. Logan?"  
  
"What about him?" Rogue muttered.  
  
Kitty scowled. "You can't just leave him here to fight them alone. He's outnumbered."  
  
"Watch me."  
  
Any hint of emotion she'd shown before had now vanished. Swallowed by the void of her own cruel indifference. Her face was set, her manner cold. Kitty positively fumed. Rogue obviously had an attachment to the Wolverinnen, yet here she was abandoning him to the mob that was meant for herself just to save her own skin. It was heartless. More than that, it was disgustingly cowardly. Her lip inadvertently curled into a sneer of antipathy.  
  
Rogue didn't even turn her head. "If ya'll don't like it then leave. *You* go fight with him if it means that much to ya. If not, then I'm going this way." She sped off down the street to her right.  
  
Kitty stood for a moment, torn. Then after a moment's hesitation she followed. Much as she hated to do it, she wasn't going to leave poor, broken Kurt to the ex-assassin's 'tender mercies'.  
  
The sky overhead was lightening, changing from murky black to dark blue. Morning approached, and with it the chance of discovery. Rogue doubled her pace, streaking through the various boulevards like a bolt of cloaked lightning. Kitty puffed and panted behind her.   
  
The older female glanced around at the buildings they passed. Yes, she remembered this locale. They were nearing the Western Gate, and freedom  
  
~Not far now,~ she thought grimly, and then halted - forced to discontinue her mad flight by what she saw before her. Kitty reached her side seconds later, wondering why they'd stopped. She didn't have to wonder for long.  
  
Stretched across the mouth of the street was a group of men, each bearing a weapon or some item of paraphernalia that could serve as such in a pinch. They were for the most part all burly, well-built characters, with a smattering of scars and healed broken noses between them. Each bore an ugly, covetous expression on his face, and leered menacingly at the two girls and incapacitated elf.  
  
"Yept!" Rogue growled under her breath.  
  
A figure peeled off from the main body of thugs. Unlike them he was thin and spindly, with sharply cut features and an avaricious smirk on his lips. His mop of ginger hair appeared blood red in the fading moonlight. Beyond him they could see the tall Western Gates rising in the white of the city wall.  
  
"Ye didn't be thinkin' we'd let ye go now, did ye?" asked the innkeeper's son mockingly. "Ah knew ye'd try an' reach the Western Gate. That be why ah left some o' our lot t'deal with yer friend. Fer such a famous wench, ye sure don't be a smart 'un."  
  
Kitty blinked as Rogue's voice, barely audible, slithered into her ear. Not even the barest movement of her head betrayed that she was speaking, and the shadows of her hood concealed her mouth. "When I give the word, run down the passageway to your left. No, don't look. It's real small, so you'll have to be careful ya'll don't miss it."  
  
The innkeeper's son smiled gleefully in anticipation. That ransom was his. Unbeknownst to the brawny fellows he'd coerced into helping him retrieve the outlaw, he had no intention of sharing the reward with anyone of them, and was even considering keeping it from his father. With money like that he could get away from this stinking city. Start a new life somewhere else, perhaps with a bar if his own. He'd always fancied having dancing girls - in more ways than one.   
  
His grin widened. He took a step forward, and his gang did likewise.  
  
"Now!" Rogue hissed.   
  
Wordlessly, the two girls whipped round and pelted into the practically invisible passageway sandwiched between two houses.   
  
The innkeeper's son gave an angry cry and the mob rushed forward after them, but found that the narrowness of the corridor forced them into single file, hindering their speed considerably as their wide shoulders invariably became wedged between the moss-covered walls.   
  
The ginger-haired man cried out as he was squashed between two of his considerably bigger comrades. "Git offa me, big idjits! They be getting' away! Move it!"  
  
"But ah'm stuck," protested the man in front of him. The innkeeper's son brought his leg back as best he could in the small space and savagely kicked him in the leg.  
  
"Did ah ask fer excuses? They not be givin' out rewards fer us *almost* getting' the girl. Move yer arse!"   
  
Kitty and Rogue pelted down the passage as fast as their legs could take them, the indignant cries of their pursuers hot on their heels. Kitty was in front, and came to the end of the alley first, pausing momentarily as she flew out onto an unfamiliar street. Rogue blew past, undaunted, catching her arm and dragging her unceremoniously behind.  
  
"Come on! This way!"  
  
The two girls ran for all they were worth, conscious of the fact that the innkeeper's son would probably have stationed more of his goons at the Western Gate itself. For the moment though, flight was all that concerned their minds. The problem of actually getting out through the gate would have to wait until they got there.  
  
Kitty's lungs burned as she fought for breath. Never had she run so fast in all her life. Her body had been strengthened by a lifetime of working the soil outside her home, but she wasn't built for exertions such as extended running. Rogue gripped her wrist with a grasp of iron, and the brown haired girl was sure that without this physical contact, she would surely have been left behind long ago.  
  
The street they were on was much busier then any other they had previously been privy to. Several horses could been seen pacing the cobbles, the metallic clop of their hooves ringing out like onerous bells, and people of all shapes and sizes were bustling out of their modest houses and throwing open the shutters to their windows high above.  
  
A rider atop one bay mount cursed the fleeing females as they dashed past, spooking his horse almost to the point of bolting. He waved a fist at them, but they paid him no heed. Now was not the time to be worrying about petty insults from an insignificant passer-by.   
  
Rogue yanked Kitty with her across the active road, avoiding horses and the odd rickshaw with adept effortlessness, and making it to the other side without a scratch. There they halted for a second, before the older girl cried out again.  
  
"This way!"  
  
They turned left and followed the street for many metres. Kitty stared about her, fearful of being seen in such an open place. Would those thugs be bothered about acting in a public setting? Somehow she doubted it, and found no solace in the crowd rapidly surrounding them.  
  
Kurt thumped against Rogue's armour, but didn't once cry out. Kitty wondered if he was still conscious. It couldn't be good for him to keep hitting his head that way, could it?   
  
Yet there was no time for her to ponder these musings, as Rogue abruptly hauled her into a small side street. It wasn't as close or cramped as the alleys of Cheapside, but somehow this didn't alleviate Kitty's fears much.  
  
~Why is she going, like, away from the main road? I'm sure this isn't, like, the way to the Western Gate. We're going in, like, totally the wrong direction!~  
  
However, Rogue knew exactly what she was doing. True they were going the wrong way at present, but she had in mind an idea so crazy, it might just work, and provide them with a quicker route than if they'd stayed on the streets.   
  
Kitty was more than a little aggravated when they stopped outside a ramshackle house a short way down the street. However, this quickly transformed into disquiet as the former assassin proceeded to kick in the door to the building. She used such force that the wood - already considerably weakened by age - splintered and cracked into a convoluted lattice of splits fanning out around the imprint of her boot.  
  
"What are you, like, *doing*?" the Changeling demanded.  
  
"Staying alive," was the offhand reply.  
  
"But this is, like, somebody's house!" Kitty refused to let the matter rest.   
  
Rogue turned to her, eyes glinting dangerously out of the shadows cast by her deep hood. "Do ya'll wanna survive or not?" she exacted softly. Kitty perceptibly started, then nodded dumbly. "Well then get your ass in there and quit complaining!"  
  
With that, she disappeared inside the building, leaving Kitty to follow like a ghost.   
  
The pair found themselves inside what was - for the area - a good-sized room, strewn here and there with straw, and with a large wooden table set up alongside one wall.   
  
There were no chairs - that would have been an expensive luxury. Rather, upended barrels served as seating, with an old odorous fishing net, gleaned from a traveller at half price because of its maturity and brokenness, draped about it to dilute the stench of old hops. The combined smell was only marginally better, and caught in Kitty's throat like a choking fog. She was almost glad when Rogue led her up a flight of creaking stairs in the centre of the room. However, some small, argumentative part of her balked at what they were doing.  
  
"We can't go up here!" she protested weakly, knowing that her remonstrations were only falling on deaf ears, but unable to prevent herself from uttering them anyway. "These people might be, like, upstairs! This is breaking and entering."  
  
~What am I saying? This is The Rogue I'm talking to. A trained murderer. She's probably done stuff like this since, like, forever. And worse besides. What difference would another one make to her record?~  
  
They came to a poky landing, bordering which was a single battered door. Rogue leaned on the opposite wall, crushing Kurt slightly, but she didn't seem that bothered about how uncomfortable he was. She raised one leg and, with a power not usually found in females, kicked at the door. Her strength was such that it flew clean off its hinges, sailing a few feet into the room beyond to land with a clatter on the floorboards.   
  
Two figures in the bed within sat up in alarm as the two runaways strode into the room. Well, that is to say, Rogue strode in. Kitty pattered embarrassedly after her, and Kurt hung limply from the taller girl's shoulder. Kitty glanced at the scared couple, throwing them an apologetic glance, and blushing beet red at the compromising state they were in.   
  
Brazenly, Rogue stalked over to the window, which was a modest construction made with glass. These people obviously had some amount of money to afford such a comfort, or else they had inherited the house off someone who did, which seemed the more likely scenario after the meagre shape of affairs downstairs.   
  
Rogue unceremoniously dumped Kurt on the floor and flung open the glass and shutters. Outside was a spectacular - if not exactly awe-inspiring - view of the somewhat squalid, flat-topped houses of Zanninsa. They stretched as far as the naked eye could see in every direction, and beyond them was a sight that caused Kitty's heart to leap in her chest.  
  
"The Western Gate," she breathed, relief tincturing her voice. Salvation. Escape. Then her brow furrowed. ~But how to get to it?~  
  
The man in the bed sat up a little straighter, trying to appear serious and dignified despite his lack of raiment. When he spoke his tone was full of forced authority, but it wobbled a little, ruining the illusion.  
  
"Who... who are you people? What do you want?"  
  
Rogue didn't even grace him with an answer. Instead, she crouched next to Kurt's inert form, shaking him gently by the shoulder.   
  
"Fuzzy? Hey, elf?" Curiously her tone was less harsh than before, though not exactly soft. "Ya'll are gonna have to get up now."  
  
Kurt stirred, the movement scarcely detectable. "Warum tat sie es?" he mumbled.  
  
"Elf, haben Sie sich zu bewegen. Hier zu bleiben ist nicht sicher, und ich kann nicht Sie jetzt tragen," Rogue said in fluent Germanic. Kurt opened his golden eyes and looked soulfully up at her. The sadness there was enough to melt the hardest of hearts.  
  
Except for Rogue's. Hers was a heart harder than stone and twice as cold.   
  
"Wohin gehen wir?" Kurt asked.  
  
Rogue gestured to the open window. "Draußen. Die einzige Weise können wir gehen."  
  
Kitty didn't understand what passed between them, but she understood perfectly what Rogue meant.  
  
"Oh no! No way am I doing that!" she cried, taking a step backwards. In a flash, Rogue was up and Kitty found herself with her back pressed against the wall, a dagger held close to her bobbing throat.  
  
"You'll do what I say, or die," was the gritted command.   
  
Unable to nod and finding that her voice had suddenly left her, Kitty could only stare at the older girl, hoping her eyes would say what she wanted to hear.  
  
Apparently they did, as Rogue abruptly released the Changeling, returning her attention to the furry boy sitting up on the floor.  
  
"Herauf!" she ordered in a manner that brooked no argument.   
  
Kurt complied, going to the window and staring out. Outside was a narrow ledge, barely eight inches wide, and attached to the brickwork a few feet to the right of the aperture was a long, horizontal flagpole, used to hang the relevant flag when a noble or some such aristocrat's parade came to Zanninsa. There was another, similar one on the opposite building too, but it was lower due to the fact that the house itself was shorter than the one in which they now stood. The space between the ledge and the next house was several feet, although it seemed more by way of the long drop to the garbage-littered ground below.   
  
Kurt gauged the distance, and hopped onto the windowsill with feline grace. Kitty stared, wide-eyed, as he dropped onto the ledge, steadying himself by gripping the window frame until he got his balance.   
  
To anyone watching, what happened next would have been enough to either drive them to drink, or else turn them off it forever. A slender, demonic figure covered in blue fur and wearing typical male peasant clothing leaped from the ledge of one building, sailing through the early-morning air to land, monkey-like, on the opposing rooftop. Closely following this, another individual dressed in a flowing cloak and resembling the Spirit of Death himself made the jump, to land with equal polish next to the demon.  
  
Kitty lowered herself onto the ledge, thankful that the couple in the bed were too afraid and embarrassed to try and stop them. She stared across the gap, gulping profusely. It sure looked a lot wider from here than when she was looking at it from inside. Subconsciously she clutched the window frame, her knuckles bleaching. A cold bead of sweat ran from her temple, down her face to drip off her chin, falling into the chasm below. She watched it plummet, a cold knot of fear manifesting in her gut.  
  
~Like, one wrong move and that could be me,~ she thought.   
  
Taking a deep, steadying breath, the slender girl released the frame and prepared to leap, just as she'd seen Rogue do. Of course, she'd seen Kurt do it too, but somehow she doubted her all too human limbs could quite manage what his could. Her muscles tensed, ready to spring. She focused hard getting enough power to cross, and....  
  
"Hey you! Stop right there!"  
  
A hand jutted from the window behind her, grabbing her shoulder and yanking her backwards. Too late! Her jump was already taking her forward, and the man's hold was clumsy thanks to the sheet he clutched haphazardly around his waist. Kitty wrenched from his clasp to go flying out across the manmade rift, but his unexpected action had thrown her off-balance. There wasn't enough clout to her jump - she wasn't going to make it! Desperately she windmilled her arms, as if by doing so she could somehow fly all the way.  
  
No such luck. She fell only a few inches short, but it was enough. Frantically she flung out her arms, catching the edge of the opposite rooftop with her fingertips and clinging on for dear life. She hung there, helpless as a rag-doll, buffeted by the breeze and conscious of the fact that at any moment she could be spotted by some keen-eyed passer-by, or worse....  
  
~Oh gods, I'm slipping,~ she mentally cried out, voice deserting her. Her sweaty fingers slid slowly, painfully, over the coarse surface of the brickwork. A high, feminine gasp sounded out behind her as the woman from the bed joined her partner in watching the young girl who'd invaded their bedroom dangle precariously from her purchase. ~I'm gonna die. Oh, Mama, Papa! Help me!~   
  
"I have you, Kätzchen. Hold on!"  
  
Kitty opened her eyes, not even realizing until then that they were squeezed shut in fear. The cool air stung her eyeballs, and salty water dribbled down her cheeks - though from fear or irritation she couldn't tell. Desperately she clung on, but could feel herself slipping a little more with every passing moment.  
  
A hollow thump sounded nearby. Absently, Kitty's mind wondered what it was, but the musing was overruled by the intense angst fogging her senses. She was almost surprised when something warm and furry grasped her around her waist.  
  
Chancing a look sideways, she saw a familiar blue form balanced on the horizontal flagpole. He wobbled on two legs, using his tail wrapped around it to maintain some sort of equilibrium. His hands were clasped around her midriff, pushing and straining to lever her up so that she may get a better grip of the rooftop and haul herself over.   
  
Through the miasma blurring her mind, a single word found its way to Kitty's mouth, and she spoke it with the incredulity of one who has resigned themselves to death, only to be torn from its dark grasp at the last second.  
  
"Kurt?"  
  
"Hang on!" he endeavoured to shove her further upwards, and for a second it seemed to be working. Kitty shifted her grip, grappling to gain more ground and drag herself up.   
  
But then Fate stepped into the fray, and as we all know, Fate is a fickle mistress.  
  
One of the bricks Kitty was holding onto suddenly began to crumble and come away from the wall. Frantically the young girl struggled to keep hold of it, but this only served to detach it faster, and it separated in a flurry of dust and powder that rained down on her face, making her cough and retch.  
  
Kurt grunted and quivered unsteadily on his roost as Kitty abruptly found herself swinging perilously by one hand. All the progress she'd just made lost, the brown haired girl coughed violently as brick-dust filled her mouth, nose and throat. Her body shook with every spasm, rendering her closer and closer to falling, but she couldn't stop. Her body's natural reflexes kept her spluttering until finally....  
  
"Kätzchen!" Kurt yelled distraughtly as what little grip Kitty had slipped, and she fell. He nearly plummeted too as her slender body was ripped from his grasp, and could do nothing but helplessly shout her name.  
  
In that moment Kitty felt nothing. Her senses became numb the nanosecond her hold failed. She was going to die. A simple fact. Irrevocable. It was as if her mind had shut down in the face of such an ultimate and unalterable fact. There was no point in screaming or flailing her limbs. She was going to perish below, and nothing now could stop her from being dashed on the cobbles like a fledgling fallen from its nest. Nothing....  
  
Something hard grabbed her wrist in an iron grip. A steel-trap, closing about her flesh. Metal dug into her skin, yanking and pulling until she felt her arm must be pulled from its socket. The cold, harsh clinch of Death.  
  
No, not Death. But close. Kitty stared up with blank, flaccid eyes. Up into the face of a most unlikely saviour.   
  
Rogue's hood had fallen back as she rushed forward, exposing her coveted face for the world to see. Her oddly coloured tresses whipped about her skull into a wild halo of hair, giving the impression of a demonic angel. Her expression was set, but strained as she heaved at the younger girl's limp body, hauling her back from the brink of oblivion with strength incongruous to her feminine form. Her hands, covered in armoured-gloves, bit into Kitty's skin, reminding her that she was not yet dead, that she was alive, and willing to fight to keep this life she yet possessed.   
  
With renewed vigour, Kitty toiled to pull herself over the edge of the rooftop, and with the addition of Rogue's strength, succeeded in gaining enough of a grip to roll over the precipice and lie, gasping, on its flat surface.  
  
Kurt bounded over too, and crouched beside her, concerned.  
  
"Kätzchen, are you OK? Speak to me."  
  
"I'm....||gasp||....fine," Kitty wheezed. "Just a little, like....||gasp||....shook up."  
  
"Come on," Rogue's harsh voice cut through the gladness sweeping over the two of them at Kitty's miraculous escape from death. "We gotta keep moving. We got a few more rooftops before we're at the Western Gate."  
  
"Can't...." Kitty panted. ".... Can't jump ||gasp|| any more."  
  
Rogue uttered what could be best described as an exasperated groan, and stalked over to the collapsed girl.   
  
"Können Sie sie anheben?" she rapped out.  
  
"Nicht alleine," replied Kurt.  
  
"Zusammen dann."  
  
With a brief nod of agreement, the elf and ex-assassin lifted Kitty up between them, pausing only long enough to get a firm grip on her thin body. Then they ran without hesitation towards the opposite edge of the rooftop, leaping off it into the mysterious beyond.   
  
Kitty didn't even have time enough to yelp, for they touched down with a jolt, and carried on running with practised ease, as if they leaped from rooftop to rooftop in the semidarkness all the time. Certainly, the speed they attained would seem to allude to it, and in virtually no time at all they were mere feet away from the Western Gate. All that stood between them and it was a drop to the ground and a sprint across a patch of open courtyard to the Gatekeeper's Booth.  
  
"Ya'll can make it to the floor?" Rogue asked. She wasn't even breathing hard from the exertion.  
  
"Ja," Kurt answered, glancing over the edge. In a few short bounds he'd leaped from the roof, swung from a windowsill and alighted nimbly on the cobbles. He looked up at the two girls.  
  
"Ya'll are next," ordered Rogue, setting Kitty roughly on her feet again.  
  
"What?" Kitty exclaimed. "Excuse me, but if you hadn't, like, noticed, I can*not* do stuff like that! I nearly killed myself last - " she uttered no more words, as Rogue shoved her hard in the chest, sending her toppling over the edge of their perch to plummet... straight into Kurt's waiting arms.   
  
"Do not worry, Frauline. I have you," he assured her, as she clutched a handful of his fur in shock, pulling it out by the roots and making him wince.  
  
"She...she...did she just..." Kitty stuttered, stomach rejoining her with a lurch, having been left behind somewhere en route to the ground.  
  
"Yeah, *she* did," Rogue retorted, landing beside them. Her manners were brisk, her words sharp, and she paid the pair of them no more than a passing glance before striding off towards the Gatekeeper's booth.  
  
Embarrassed and angry, Kitty scrambled out of Kurt's arms and they tagged along at her heels like a couple of faithful hounds. Kitty's nature balked at this obsequious behaviour, but one glance at Kurt's drawn, submissive face told her it was best to comply for the moment, if just for his sake whilst he chose to remain in the rude girl's company.  
  
They'd crossed no more than half the courtyard when the first missile struck. A knife, rusty with age and disuse, and displaying none of the care and attention obviously lavished on both Rogue and Logan's weapons, clattered point-first into the cobbles mere inches from Kurt's bare feet.  
  
The trio whirled round, and Kitty ducked as a sizable rock flew past, aimed at her head. From out of the shadows came the innkeeper's son's men, howling chaotic battle cries, the thrill of the chase in them. As predicted, they'd been sent on ahead of their leader to lie in wait for their quarry should she, by some unlucky turn, escape his grasp.  
  
Rogue drew her sword and adopted a battle stance in front of the elf and Changeling. She was sick of running now, and wanted nothing more than to finish these insolent, arrogant wretches who thought they could capture her so easily. Who did they think they were, anyway? She wasn't some common or garden criminal, easy prey for any vigilante who decided to take a shot at her. She was The Rogue. That fact in itself proof of her resilience and determination to stay alive.  
  
The crowd of men surged towards her, shouting and laughing in equal measure, none of them truly realising the calibre of whom they were chasing. A few of them flung missiles at her, which she adroitly dodged without so much as moving her feet, but most kept their weapons in hand, readying them for close-quarters combat.   
  
Rogue shifted her grip on the handle of her blade, singling out with her eyes a likely looking target like she'd been taught to, and making the split-second calculation on how best to lop off his head and use the force of the blow to slay the man behind him too. Closer and closer they came, until she could see the whites of their eyes, wide and staring with the primordial exhilaration of the hunt, awaked after years of stifling city life.  
  
Suddenly a hand lay gently on her arm, and such was her tension that she almost spun round to stab its owner. However, in the nick of time she caught herself, which was lucky because the owner was Kurt. He gazed at her through soulful eyes, the colour of liquid honey, made sour by the mould of intense pain.   
  
"Please, no more death," he pleaded, voice no more than a whisper.  
  
Rogue stared at him, emotions grappling inside her at the sight of those golden orbs. Vicarious misery clashed with the intrinsic bloodlust coursing through her veins, creating a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts and feelings that tolled within her like a knell.  
  
This severe personal battle lasted only a second to the outside world, and even as the clash flickered briefly behind her green eyes, she was already turning and running away from the advancing mob.  
  
Kitty and Kurt also turned and fled, the frenzied cries of their pursuers ringing in their ears. The Zanninsan men whooped, courage increasing a thousandfold at the sight of their fleeing backs, and they increased their pace.  
  
"Lookit, they be runnin'!" one yelled.  
  
"Get 'em!" screeched another. "Knock 'em down, kill 'em!"  
  
"Stab they hides an' slit they gizzards! Gouge out they eyes and feed 'em t'crows fer brekkist! Make 'em beg fer mercy, mates!" boomed yet another, brandishing a fire-poker like a pike.  
  
Rogue gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to spin round and plunge amongst them, ripping and stabbing until not one of them could jeer any more. Her sword was still drawn, and she ran with it held tightly in one hand, pallid sunlight from the looming dawn glinting off it where - rightfully, in her mind - blood should have been adding its own crimson sheen to the metal.  
  
Yet it seemed their flight was in vain, for at that moment the men they'd left wedged in the alley appeared, blocking their way to the booth and freedom. A familiar redheaded figure was at their helm.   
  
Rogue and her companions banked a sharp left, shooting through a gap between two nearby hovels and running alongside the city wall in an effort to lose them and double back towards the gates. But it was no use. It seemed they were surrounded, hemmed in on every side. Armed men - many more than she'd first thought - poured from everywhere, barring all exits and closing the circle around the three escapees until they found themselves pressed against the cracked, white surface of the wall.   
  
They were trapped.  
  
Rogue extended her sword, stepping in front of the other two. She risked a glance over her shoulder at Kurt. One that only he could see, and had he not known better or been a little more perceiving at that moment, then he could have sworn that there was something akin to contrition in her eyes. Then she swivelled back to face her opponents, a snarl tugging at the corners of her mouth. Let them just try to take her down!  
  
Kitty cowered behind Rogue's sturdy frame, cursing herself for their predicament. It was all her fault. If she'd made that jump properly then they would have been here sooner, before the innkeeper's son arrived to cut off their retreat. It was all her fault. They were going to die because of her. Rogue and Kurt. Skewered on the blades of this howling mob and paraded around as carcasses for the world to gawk at. A solitary tear trickled down her cheek, tracing a path through the grime.  
  
~I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.~  
  
All at once, a strange feeling came over the blue-eyed girl. Like sensation, yet not. It immersed her being in a tangible nothingness, wrapping around her limbs and spreading across her skin like invisible, licking flames. She felt light. Weightless. Like air. It was frighteningly alien, but concurrently, very familiar.   
  
She recognised it in an instant.  
  
Rogue gave a startled; "Wha-" as suddenly, Kitty grabbed hold of her arm. Likewise Kurt didn't know quite what the younger girl was doing, until he felt the familiar nothingness wash over him. The same nothingness as had permeated him back at Kitty's house. He leant back, realising what the Changeling was trying to do, and aiding her the best he could to do it.   
  
As one, the trio literally sank into the wall, disappearing from view moments before the first of the mob reached them, leaving the men to crash uselessly into the stone in their wake, weapons clanking to the ground and screams of frustration and choler turning the air an unpleasant shade of blue around them.  
  
The grass on the other side was cold and wet with morning dew. It soaked into Rogue's cloak as she fell, backside first, onto it. In a trice she was on her feet again, eyes blazing. "What all the Seven Hells was that?"  
  
Kitty stared up at her. Her tone was weak. Drained from phasing two other people as well as herself. "My... my power. It kicked in, and I pulled us through the wall."  
  
Rogue remembered something Kitty had said back at the crater that used to be her house. Recognition flared briefly in her features, before they recomposed themselves into the same mask of apathy they favoured - albeit with a trace of anger still smouldering in her dark green orbs.  
  
"Sind Sie ganz recht? Are you OK?" asked Kurt, leaning over from where he'd landed next to the younger girl. She nodded, rubbing her temples like she had a headache.  
  
"Yeah, Just a little, like, disorientated. I'll be fine in, like, a couple of minutes."  
  
"We ain't got a couple of minutes," Rogue said tersely. "On your feet. We've gotta move quickly before the Gatekeeper lets that mob out."  
  
"But he's not allowed to until dawn." Kitty reminded.   
  
Her answer came from Rogue's blade, which she pointed meaningfully at the rapidly lightening sky. "I got news for you, short-stuff. It's dawn already. We gotta move out."  
  
"Move out, move on, get going, that's all I ever hear from you!" Kitty cried angrily. "Well *I've* got news for *you*, *Rogue*. I'm tired of moving out. In fact, I'm just plain tired, period! Try phasing through a solid wall sometime and, like, tell me how many yucks you have!" She glared ferociously at the older adolescent, who stared coldly back at her.  
  
Kurt shuffled closer to Kitty. "Kätzchen, please. She's right. We *do* have to move now, for our own safety."  
  
Kitty didn't break her gaze or stop glaring. "Fine! But first, I want some answers! I flat refuse to like, take another step until she tells me what I wanna know!"  
  
Kurt cast about him nervously. "Rogue?"   
  
She said nothing, and Kitty's verbal torrent went on unchecked.  
  
"Tell me, *Rogue*," the derision in her voice was dangerously blatant, "Just what is this 'Silver Sword' thing you and your friend got so totally whacked about, and what's it, like, got to do with me getting these weird new powers?"  
  
"For your information, Logan isn't mah friend, he was mah mentor." The ex-assassin gritted in a monotone.  
  
"All the more reason you shouldn't have, like, left him behind to fight your battles for you."  
  
Rogue's finger's tightened around her sword handle, but Kurt, anticipating her action, scrambled to his feet and placed himself between the two girls.   
  
"Rogue, bitte, just answer the question. I.... I'd like to know about this 'Silver Sword' too."  
  
Rogue looked at him for a moment, as if considering his request. "You two were *really* cut off in that forest, weren't you? Don't you know *anything* about the Silver Sword?"  
  
"Nein."  
  
"Like, no."  
  
Rogue sighed. A disgruntled, impatient sigh. "Fine, but only if we move on before it really *is* too late and we have a repeat of what went on back there *without* the miraculous escape. No walls around here to save us, shrimp."  
  
"Fine!" Kitty snapped, getting shakily to her feet and stalking away. She looked back over one bony shoulder, calling irritably, "Well, aren't you coming?"  
  
"I would if it were the right direction," Rogue jerked a thumb to her right. "Belvedere's this way. That is, if ya'll still wanna travel with me?" She looked pointedly at Kurt.   
  
He sighed. "Where else can we go? Kitty has no home, and I...." He trailed off.  
  
Again, for the second time in as many minutes, Rogue gazed at him, something akin to remorse at her careless words in those fathomless green eyes. Yet, just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. As was she, having begun walking away in the correct direction without bothering to see whether the two younger teenagers followed.  
  
They trailed after her, as, deep down, she knew they would, listening intently as she explained.  
  
"The Silver Sword? Huh. Where do I begin? I suppose I could start by telling ya'll he's the biggest, meanest, Seventh-Hell spawned Pebehock ya'll could ever not wanna meet."  
  
"It's a man then?" Kurt reverted to scampering on all fours, being able to attain more speed that way.  
  
"Man? Demon, more like. But yeah, he's male. Though what race, nobody's quite sure. He just kinda *appeared* a few years ago, and he's been causing all kinds of trouble ever since."  
  
"Why doesn't someone do something about him if he's, like, so bad?"  
  
"Too powerful. Or else they've already joined with him and his legions. Maybe in the beginning someone could've taken him out, but not now. He's got half the realms under his thumb, and the other half begging for mercy against his armies."  
  
Kurt nodded sagely. "Which is why the Guild of Assassins joined with him, ja?"  
  
"Quick, ain't ya? Yeah, that's why they did it. Better to be dominated than destroyed, they figured. Problem is, The Silver Sword don't allow native cultures to survive under his rule. He crushes them. Wipes them out, until the land or whatever it is that's 'joined' him gets completely absorbed into his empire. Another influx of nameless faces ready to go to battle and conquer somewhere else."  
  
"Is that why Herr Logan was so averse to the Guild of Assassins uniting mit him?"  
  
Rogue grunted. "Assassins value their identities above all else. Possessions, material things, they're all worthless compared to your name. In the eyes of an assassin, it's what makes you who and what you are. Titles are awarded according to conduct and success in the field, and they stick with you until you either earn a better one or die. To have your name taken away basically takes away your identity. Who you are. Everything. It's the ultimate punishment. Even worse than death."  
  
Kurt averted his eyes. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't realise."  
  
Rogue bit her tongue, hard. She hadn't meant to say that much. She was giving away Guild secrets to innocents; making herself susceptible by divulging too much information. The coppery tang of blood spread inside her mouth.  
  
"Rogue?" the elf again. Gods, he was persistent. "Um.... what sorts of things does the Silver Sword *do* that make everybody hate and fear him so much?"  
  
She sighed. "What *doesn't* he do? There have been rumours, stories, but some of the truth is even worse than the gossip. I've heard tell that he's some kind of powerful sorcerer - some say he's even from a different plain of existence altogether - and that he uses magic to enslave people to do his every bidding. Not that he really needs magic for that. He runs all the slave trading organisations - they were the first to join him, the cowards. I guess he just gets his kicks from depriving even slaves of what little free-will they have. He's constantly waging wars on anyone who won't co-operate or join with him, and when he takes prisoners he tries out new torture machines on them that his scientists have invented specially, or else he uses them as test-subjects in his magical 'experiments'."  
  
"How horrible," Kitty's eyes grew round.   
  
"And that's not the half of it. There's some stuff that's so bad, I'm not even gonna mention it. Even I got mah limits. Let's just say, if you take all the deaths in every land for the last ten years and multiply it by a thousand, you'll have a fraction of what the Silver Sword's done already. And what's worse is that he's still going, and getting stronger by the day."  
  
"Man, I can't, like, believe that nobody's done anything to stop him," Kitty expostulated.   
  
Rogue gave a short, barking laugh, totally devoid of any humour. "Don't kid yourself. Plenty have *tried*, but he's just too powerful. They're either killed off, or they disappear without trace in the night. Not even bodies recovered. The ultimate silence."  
  
Kitty halted mid-step. "Hang on a second. And we're going to this guy's, like, *stronghold*, you say? As in where he *is*?"  
  
Rogue turned, walking backwards and not breaking her lethally graceful stride. "*I'm* going to Belvedere, yes. What ya'll do is your own decision."  
  
"I'm going with you," Kurt said stoically. "That is, if you'll let me. The last thing my mother ever told me to do was go with you, and I'll do everything in my power to honour her last wishes."  
  
Rogue's eyes slid sideways at him. ~Was that emotional blackmail? Either this kid's really smart, or else he's so bereaved he doesn't even realise what he's doing. Personally, I'd go for the latter, but you never know....~ her thoughts were abruptly interrupted.  
  
"If Kurt's going, then I'm going too. Like, no *way* is he getting out of my sight with *you* around!" This last comment was directed at Rogue.   
  
The dual-haired teen clenched her teeth in an effort to keep silent and not rip the girl's throat out for her insolence. ~For the elf's sake,~ she told herself, but turned around to walk forwards again and sheathed her sword just in case the urge became too much. The shrimp *really* didn't know when to call it quits.   
  
This momentary slip in her ice-queen façade went surprisingly unnoticed to her usually keen perception, though a pair of golden orbs noted it with a kind of poignant approval.  
  
"So, like, how far away is this 'Belvedere' place, anyhow?" Kitty asked, lifting her decidedly grubbier-than-usual skirts and hopping over a small stone.  
  
Rogue shrugged. "I'm not sure. Couple of weeks perhaps? Possibly more on foot."  
  
"What?" Kitty raised her eyes, appalled. "You mean I have to, like, walk for a couple of *weeks*. I was thinking more, a few days. One week, tops. I cannot believe that I'm actually doing this voluntarily! I am like, totally, maddeningly insane. *Insane*, I tell you...." she carried on, descending into muted grumbling when she realised Rogue wasn't listening to her, yet unable to keep her tongue still.  
  
Kurt drew closer to Rogue, darting in the manner of a nervous feline. His tail lashed this way and that, and his gaze was constantly roving. "Rogue? I don't mean to pry, but.... well, why *are* we going to Belvedere if it's so dangerous?"  
  
Kitty's ears pricked up. "Yeah, why are we?"  
  
Rogue said nothing for several seconds, and the pair began to wonder whether she was ignoring the question, as she was so apt to do to them. But then she spoke. Yet her voice was strange. Wispy, as if belonging to a distant memory or dream, and not the present moment at all.  
  
"I'm going because.... because someone I used to know is there."  
  
"Who could you, like, possibly know in a place like *that*?" probed Kitty, making it demonstrably obvious that tact was not her forte.  
  
"Just.... someone," Rogue said vaguely, and some inexorable force told them not to question her further.   
  
Suddenly, she snapped back into reality with a jolt, embarrassment showing behind her eyes at the temporary lapse. But the memories had been so strong. For a second, it had almost been like she was back there, before any of this happened. Before she was outcast from The Guild. Before she lost him. Before he ....  
  
"Come on, hustle it up. I told you what y'all wanted to know, so let's move it!" Rogue abruptly quickened her step, legs eating up the ground at an astronomical rate. "We ain't stopping for a long while. Too close to the city. We got a long way to go before rest is a possibility."  
  
"What?" Kitty cried again. Her remonstrations filled the early morning air along with the dew, filtering into the ears of her travelling companions like buzzing of angry bees. Kurt hung back to try and pacify her, but his words were stilted and false, as he silently mourned the loss of his only kin.   
  
In this way they went on, advancing across the open, grassy country towards the woodland further on, leaving the dinginess of Zanninsa far behind them.   
  
In the distance, Plechtoh, the first, and smaller of the two suns peeked lazily over the distant mountains, pale light streaking the ground and illuminating any moisture in the air into a haze of glittering jewels.   
  
A new day was starting.  
  
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To Be Continued......  
  
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TRANSLATIONS:  
  
*GERMANIC*  
Warum taten sie es? ~ Why did you do it?  
Ich könnte Ihnen geholfen haben. ~ I could've helped you.  
Warum sendeten Sie mich weg? ~ Why did you send me away?  
Sie wußten, daß sie kamen, und doch Sie mich weg sendeten. ~ You knew that they were coming, but you still sent me away.  
Warum tat sie es? ~ Why did she do it?  
Elf, haben Sie sich zu bewegen. ~ Elf, you have to move.  
Hier zu bleiben ist nicht sicher, und ich kann nicht Sie jetzt tragen. ~ It's not safe here, and I can't carry you.  
Wohin gehen wir? ~ Where do we go?  
Draußen. Die einzige Weise können wir gehen. ~ Outside. The only way we can go.  
Herauf! ~ Up!  
Können Sie sie anheben? ~ Can you carry her?  
Nicht alleine. ~ Not alone.   
Zusammen dann. ~ Together then.  
Sind Sie ganz recht? ~ Are you OK?  
  
  
*GEHíN*  
Xopomo. ~ S'alright.  
Gah lej, gah kef, vinel euhr Harun dim tageth. ~ Go safe, go well, may we one day fight side by side again.  
  
EARTH-REALM TRIVIA:  
Rogue makes a reference to the 'Seven Hells' in this chapter. The keen-eyed amongst you may also have noticed such an allusion in the prophecy contained within the Interlude.   
  
General Earth-Realm belief cites that there are seven separate layers of the underworld, commonly known as the Seven Hells. The First Hell is inhabited only by mischief demons and the like, and though impish, its inhabitants are harmless enough. The nature of demons get worse depending on which Hell layer you find them, and in the Seventh Hell there is (quote from sacred texts); 'the burning throne divine, on which He sits, archduke of all demons and consumer of mortal souls. He that was cast from paradise at the first, and now serves only His own whim of destruction and fire.' Guess who *that* could be. 


	7. Conversations By Moonlight

DISCLAIMER: X-Men:Evo belongs to Warner Bros. And Marvel Comics. I have never, and shall never own them, no matter how much I may want to. I've simply warped them to fit my own twisted mind. However, this fic and any original work herein is officially mine, and anyone trying to steal it will find out how painful a weapon a computer mouse can when used by someone with imagination.  
  
WARNINGS: This is an AU (Alternative Universe) fic. Everything has been transplanted into a fantasy universe of my creation. Inspirations, despite what you might initially think, aren't actually from a certain Peter-Jackson-esque film, since I started work on this before I ever *saw* that movie. Influences rather include InterNutter's spiffy fic 'Mein Teuful' (if you haven't yet read this then go do it *now*!) and various other sources I'll explain later.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Not much to say this time, except to apologise for the lateness of this chapter. I've just started at University, and the workload is intense (as members of InterNutter's NutBoard well know.) Still, I've uploaded this instalment as best I can, and I hope people enjoy it. Also, a great big thank you to Radical Nike, who is hosting this fic on her spiffy webpage 'Out Of Body'. If anybody fancies a look-see, then go to http://www.eccentrix.com/members/RadicalNike/home.htm . Also, I'm making a web-wide appeal for artwork for 'Of Beast And Blade'. *Please*, donate your art to Radical Nike and she'll put it up on her page. Even if it's just a random little doodle you did when you were bored in class, I'd really appreciate it, (I have no shame when it comes to this kinda thing!)  
  
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'Of Beast And Blade' By Scribbler  
Chapter Five ~ 'Conversations By Moonlight'  
  
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'Every life has a measure of sorrow, and sometimes this is what awakens us.' ~ Steven Tyler  
  
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They travelled all day, sometimes walking, sometimes falling into something between an amble and a stride, but always moving, and most of the time in silence. Kitty was by far the most outspoken of the three, but after a while even she was forced to give up and resign herself to taciturnity. Rogue stalked along with her usual veiled poise, and Kurt spent much of his time on all fours, worryingly silent and morose and totally unlike himself.   
  
By nightfall, it was a footsore and weary trio that found themselves deep in the heart of the forest that straddled the border between Germania and Österrik.   
  
It was dark when Kitty finally decided she'd had enough. Leaning against an ancient, knarled tree, she folded her arms and said loudly: "That's it. I'm, like, totally stopping right here."  
  
Kurt paused, one hand hanging in the air in the manner of a dog halted mid-step. Rogue carried on for a few paces before also stopping and turning round.  
  
"What did y'all say?" she asked softly, a strained edge to her already dangerous voice.  
  
"You said we had to travel all day. You never said, like, anything about at night too." Kitty closed her eyes. "I'm staying right here until sunrise. I couldn't take another step even if I tried."  
  
Kurt glanced at Rogue, gauging her expression, but the darkness of the thick woodland was almost all consuming even to his acute vision, and she was standing in shadow. He could make out neither her face beneath her hood nor what stance she was taking. He guessed it was a combat position.  
  
He guessed right. With a 'snikt' of metal, Rogue rushed like silent death incarnate from the gloom, pushing Kitty up against the tree and holding a dagger to her throat.  
  
"Listen, *Changeling*!" The antipathy in her tone was unmistakable. "We'll rest when I say we rest. And even if we were to stop now, no way would we just lie down on the ground here and go to sleep. Ain't you got a single grain of sense in you? Perfect way to get yourself ambushed and killed!"  
  
"Rogue, please. Not again," Kurt sat on his haunches a few feet away, absently washing his face cat-style with his tongue and left hand. Despite this seemingly nonchalant movement, his golden eyes were fixed on the two females with a tired, hunted look to them. "She's right, you know. To tell the truth, I don't know if I can go on much longer without collapsing myself."  
  
Rogue twisted to look at him over her shoulder. With a derisive snort at their twin weakness, she dropped Kitty, stabbing the blade back into its scabbard in her belt.  
  
Kitty, with her characteristic indiscretion, took this as some sort of victory over the ex-assassin, and treated it as such.   
  
"So, since you seem to know all there is to know, where are we gonna sleep then?"  
  
Rogue tightened her jaw, biting back to war cry she so desperately wanted to unleash as she dived to cut the infuriating girl's heart from her chest. She could almost feel it, pulsing in her hands, ribbons of crimson juice dribbling deliciously through her fingers as she watched the shrimp's mouth open and close in her final, dying gasp. So real. So tantalizingly close....  
  
"Rogue," Kurt warned her, anticipating the line her musings were taking.   
  
Rogue growled. A real, animal, feral growl that bubbled deep in her throat and rippled her top lip. The blue furry boy stared, and something in his sorrowful gaze quelled the burning anger boiling in her gut, turning it into a mild rumbling, and then dousing it completely.   
  
She sighed. How could he do that? It wasn't the first time on this journey he'd brought her violent tendencies to cessation. But what intrigued her was how he never used force to do it. Never raised his voice or his hand. Damnit, he only ever had to say her name and look at her the right way for her to cave in and let her choler go. What in all the Seven Hells was happening to her that he was able to do this with just those damn mournful eyes of his?   
  
~I must be losing mah edge,~ she mused, not at all pleased with the thought. ~I ain't gonna last long against Them if this keeps up.~  
  
"Hello, am I like, invisible or something?" Kitty reminded them of her presence. "Where are we like, gonna sleep, already?"  
  
Rogue looked up, and both Kitty and Kurt followed her gaze into the leafy branches of the overhanging foliage. Kitty's mouth dropped open. "Oh no!" she squealed. "No way are you like, getting me up *there*!"  
  
"And why not?" Rogue snarled, traces of her anger returning.  
  
"It's a tree."  
  
"And? Your point is?"  
  
"It's.... like.... it's a *tree*!"  
  
"I fail to see what your problem is."  
  
"I can't climb in a skirt. Plus, who knows what's up there. This might be home to a bear, or wildcat, or worse." She shuddered. With her specialist knowledge of fabled creatures she knew better than anyone what 'worse' entailed.  
  
Kurt paused in his washing and scampered over to the tree trunk. Resting his hands upon it, he took in a deep breath of the cool night air. "Kätzchen, your fears are valid, but I can assure you, there's nothing up there but a few squirrels. I'd know if there was something dangerous, believe me." He tapped at the side of his sensitive nose.   
  
"Your nose knows, does it?" Kitty attempted a joke. It fell flat. "But, like, how am I gonna get up there?"  
  
"Oh for the love of the gods, you climb it!" Rogue groaned. "What else? Unless you can fly as well as phase?"   
  
"In a skirt? I don't think so!"  
  
"Look, Kätzchen, I'll go up first if that's what's bothering you." Kurt scurried up the rough bark with practised skill. Soon he was looking down on them from a thick branch more than twenty feet above.   
  
Kitty was still unsure. "Well, I don't know. It's.... it's real high. Perhaps I'll just stay on the ground."  
  
"Like hell you will!" Rogue bristled. "Listen, shrimp. I don't understand why, but the elf likes you, so I'll tell you this now instead of killing you outright. If ya'll stay on the ground, you'll most likely die. Now get your ass up that tree afore I get to spikin' it with mah sword to make it move faster. Is that clear enough for you?"  
  
Kitty shrank back, trepidation evident in her stammerings. "But I...."  
  
"Kätzchen?"   
  
She yelped as Kurt's voice sounded close by her ear. Spinning round, she saw him clinging, head pointing downwards, to the uneven brown skin of the tree. He looked at her, expression probing.   
  
"Are you scared of heights?"  
  
Kitty blushed and averted her eyes. "Uh-huh."  
  
"Oh for the sake of Plechtoh and his brother Kirkus!" cursed Rogue.   
  
"Would you like me to help you up?" Kurt extended one three-fingered hand. Kitty stared charily at it.  
  
"I'll fall," she whispered; all loud bravado vanished in the face of his perceptive discovery.  
  
"No you won't. I'll be there for you. I won't let you fall," Kurt coaxed, voice soft and face softer.  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"Ja."  
  
"Promise?"  
  
"I promise."  
  
"Well...." For a moment more she hesitated, and then tentatively took his hand. He closed his oddly shaped fingers around her pathetically small and fragile ones, blue fur stark against her flesh.  
  
Kurt smiled winsomely. "Don't worry. I've got you. A promise is a promise, remember?" he cajoled as she hesitantly began the vertical ascent. "Just don't look down and you'll be fine. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, kleine Sache."  
  
Slowly - so painstakingly slowly that it almost hurt - but surely, they climbed together, Kurt staying near the trembling girl for moral support, and Rogue - at a meaningful glance from him - scaling delicately behind her to reduce her fear of falling.  
  
At last they reached their destination. When they were about forty feet up, Rogue looked about her and muttered, "That's enough. Ya'll can stop now."   
  
Kurt adeptly chose a branch sturdy enough to take their weight and guided Kitty to it, wedging her in its crook for extra comfort. She gazed up at him, blue eyes shining.  
  
"I did it. I really did it," came her delighted murmur.  
  
"Well done, Kätzchen," he returned, "Well done."  
  
Rogue watched them from a few branches away. Because of her armour she was heavier than they were, and so was forced to assume another, 'private' bough for herself rather than sharing. It suited her fine. She didn't like company at the best of times, let alone when it was those two.   
  
Yet something kept pulling her gaze towards them, drinking in their small, insignificant triumph with thirsty eyes. As if somewhere deep inside her she wished she could share in it....  
  
She shook her head. What an absurd concept. Sharing in such a petty victory. She had better things to do with her time.  
  
Rogue tilted her head back, letting her hood collapse to her shoulders. The night air was cool and soothing on her face after the stuffiness of her cowl. She wished she didn't have to wear the thing so much, but she had to if she wanted to stay unrecognisable and alive. Anonymity was the key to survival when you were being tracked by the best of the best, and she hadn't exactly been keeping a low profile lately.  
  
She stared up into the foliage above her. The trees they were nestled in were Elevada trees, and extended at least another fifty feet into the sky, trunks thick and sturdy right the way up, and tapering off to a curious curl at the top, unique in the fauna world.   
  
It was too dark to see right now, but she would stake her life that this particular tree was over a hundred years old, although it was difficult to tell without being able to see the age spirals on the bark.   
  
It was common knowledge that the older an Elevada tree got, the closer together these intricate spirals etched into its hide became.   
  
Idly, she ran her fingers across its rough surface, brushing the ivy that encircled it in an ever-tightening clasp.  
  
A sudden thought struck her. "Hey, you two! Ya'll can't sleep yet!"  
  
"Why not?" mumbled Kitty, already snuggled into her crook with her arms wrapped round her and showing no intentions of moving.   
  
"We have to set up a watch. Basic survival procedure."  
  
"Too.... Tired," the younger girl yawned, covering her gaping maw with one hand, "Can't keep my.... ||yawn||.... eyes open."  
  
"I'll take the first shift," Kurt offered.   
  
"Fine. Then shrimp can have the next, and I'll take last watch." Rogue replied. ~The elf's eyes are probably better in the darkness anyway.~  
  
Kurt knuckled away from Kitty's drowsy form to a spot where he could see the forest floor better. There he sat, tail curled around the thick branch as best it could, still as a statue, fading into the background despite his dissimilar colouring.  
  
Rogue settled down for some well-earned rest. Not that she'd ever have admitted it to the others, but she was virtually dead on her feet too, and it was only through sheer force of will that she'd managed to keep going this long.   
  
Her eyelids drooped by themselves, enveloping her world in comforting blackness. Gratefully she sank back into its numbing embrace, losing herself in the blanket of sleep.  
  
Silence once again reigned supreme in the forest, watched over by mournful golden eyes.  
  
*******************  
  
In the Copper Cow silence also governed, but it was silence of a different kind.  
  
It was the silence that follows death.  
  
A figure sat at one of the tables, absently swigging at a mug of ale. He swilled the liquid around his mouth, before callously spitting it onto the floor. Dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, he threw the beaker after it, watching it shatter against the wall with such force that it left a spider-web of cracks in the plaster.  
  
The figure leaned back in his chair. He was so big that he spilled out of it in several places. Yet he wasn't fat. Rather, his general frame was broader than the average man's, and endowed with muscles far greater than one could have thought possible for such a decidedly sleek form. His entire demeanour spoke of veiled, savage strength, the likes of which is rarely, if ever, seen in a mortal body.   
  
From his posture, it was plain that he was aware of this fact, and revelled in it.  
  
He clasped his hands to the back of his head, rocking backwards on two legs of the seat in a blasé fashion. He knew he should be going, but he liked this little place with its quaint atmosphere and homely ambience. Even if the staff were a little.... 'uncooperative.'   
  
He chuckled - not a nice sound. He'd soon dealt with that little problem though.   
  
A slight figure slid from the gloom, moving as shadow does. Silent and virtually unnoticed. He crept closer to the huge man, stepping carefully over the mounds sprawled on the floor and avoiding the crystallized patches of moisture dotted about them.  
  
"Cap'n?" he whispered. "Cap'n, sir."  
  
The giant of a man swivelled his head and fixed a steely gaze on the slender individual. "Yes?" he drawled.   
  
The little figure swallowed. "Excuse me for askin', Cap'n, but shouldn't we be movin' on?"  
  
The 'Cap'n' looked away again, as if the scrawny male was hardly worth his time. "We will. Just not yet. What's the matter? Don't you like it around here?"  
  
The smaller one swallowed nervously again, unsure how to answer. His superior was famous for having a temper that flared up for no apparent reason, and when it did, the results were always devastating. He didn't particularly want to become the next casualty of 'war'.  
  
"No, no, Cap'n, sir. Not at all. I just thought...." he trailed off.  
  
The brawny man closed his eyes. Really, these idiots they'd given him to work with. Some of them were barely even kids, not at all suitable for a mission like this. He could scarcely remember their names sometimes. The one talking at the moment was called Hariq, or some other such dense name. He wondered what his Title was. Hariq the Stutterer seemed apt right now.  
  
"You're not here to think, you're here to follow my orders. Now get back to the others and drink and eat your fill whilst you can. If she's going where I think she's going then there's no need to hurry. She's making our job easier. We can take our time. Enjoy the scenery a little. Experience the culture of the city," he chuckled. Then his expression became menacing. "Now get going, if you know what's good for you."  
  
The one known as Hariq scurried away, anxious to leave the older man as quickly as possible. He hadn't even *wanted* to be a part of this mission. He'd have been quite happy training back at the Guild, but his mentor had put him forwards for this assignment without his prior knowledge.   
  
Once it was announced that he had been chosen to go there was nothing he could do about it. It was total taboo to argue with either a mentor or the council when they'd made a decision about something. *Especially* now that a bad wind was blowing amongst the councillors themselves. They hadn't the time to deal with petty squabbles and disputes, what with the Silver Sword's forces moving more men in every day.   
  
Headquarters was in chaos most of the time these days. Still, even that would have been preferable to this walking on eggshells in the field all the time. Hariq glanced back over his shoulder. His superior wasn't called Emilios the Savage for nothing.   
  
Emilios heard the boy patter away and yawned. A wide yawn that revealed two rows of razor sharp teeth and stretched his jaw to near-inhuman proportions. Then again, he wasn't exactly human any more.   
  
Opening copper-coloured eyes, he stared at his hand. It was large, yet sleek, belying the crushing grip it could deliver at a moment's notice beneath waves of shaggy taupe fur. He flexed his fingers, studying the lethal claws tipping each one. Several were stained deep red from his earlier activities.   
  
His distinctly feral-like mouth twitched into a wry smile at the memory. Oh how that fat little Pebehock and his scraggy offspring had squealed. Like a little piglets running about in terror when the farmer approaches.   
  
He remembered what it had felt like to split them open and watch the delicious scarlet fluid run through his fur. The rich smell still hung in the air, mixing with the smoke fumes already present to form a kind of hazy drug. Luscious and deadly.  
  
Yet mixed with it was another scent. That of the one Emilios hated most in the world.  
  
Him.  
  
Logan.  
  
His lips inadvertently creased into a silent snarl. Logan. He didn't even have to say the name aloud to feel the filth inside his mouth. It tasted bitter on his tongue, and he spat a gob of saliva onto the floor in disgust.  
  
Logan.  
  
He'd been here. In this very building. Emilios had told the council that Kaju was still alive, but they wouldn't believe him. A few spots of blood and an eyewitness saying they'd skewered him on the end of a spear was enough for them. They'd neglected to remember that Logan was a Wolverinnen. They'd forgotten that Wolverinnens have such awesome healing abilities that in olden times people believed that they'd arisen from the dead after a fight in which they had been 'killed' by their opponent.  
  
Emilios hadn't forgotten.  
  
And Emilios would never forget Logan. Never. Not until the day the Wolverinnen truly died.  
  
Or he did.   
  
That was really the only reason he'd taken this mission. When they wouldn't let him chase after the 'dead' Logan, he'd had to settle for the next best thing. His pupil.   
  
She was a wanted fugitive now, and there had been no shortage of volunteers to track her and put her to ritual death. However, the decision had been made the very moment Emilios walked into the council chamber and proclaimed that *he* would like the honour of removing the one so audacious as to defy the ancient rules of the Guild of Assassins.   
  
At the time, he'd only just returned from being 'altered' and his startling new appearance had cowed the councillors into accepting his request, no questions asked.  
  
Emilios perused his hand again. He certainly had changed from the weedy little Pebehock of old. Gone were the weak human limbs and paltry muscles. Replaced instead by the strong, hardy limbs of a....  
  
Of a what?  
  
He blinked. That was a very good question. He wasn't human anymore; that was for sure. Yet there was no official name for what he was. He supposed lycanthrope might have come close, if it weren't for his shrewdness and sentience and distinctly un-wolf-like body. The only thing he and wolves had in common were fangs and claws, and he'd wager anybody his were much, *much* sharper.   
  
A frighteningly astute mind lay behind those savage, copper eyes. Calculating and cold, it was incongruous to the bestial body that enclosed it. A last remnant of the man he used to be.  
  
Emilios frowned. He wasn't that man anymore. This mission, and all it involved, signified the death of that persona, and the beginning of a fresh one in his new and improved body.  
  
Absently he ran his tongue over his fangs, a habit he'd adopted when deep in thought. Those 'scientists' had done a good job of improving him. He couldn't have designed this form better if he'd tried, although blades like Logan's would have been a welcome addition to his already deadly claws.   
  
The price to pay for all this raw power and strength had been so simple and easy to arrange that it was almost laughable.   
  
And laugh he did. A short sharp laugh that echoed inside the empty public house and caused the clutch of three smaller assassins to startle at their table in the corner.   
  
One of them glanced at his neighbour and quiescently mouthed the word "Mad". His neighbour nodded vigorously in agreement. Emilios the Savage hadn't been quite the same since he returned from Belvedere. Before, he'd been famed for his quick mind and even quicker temper, especially concerning his rivalry with Logan the Swift. Now he was renowned for his translated form, and mindless, unbridled savagery at the mere mention of the Wolverinnen's name. It was a foolish assassin who talked openly of the dead traitor when Emilios was around.  
  
One of them sipped at his mug of ale. It was sweet, and tingled as it ran down his throat. He shivered. It wasn't often such luxury was allowed at Headquarters. The life of an assassin was a hard one, filled with dispossession and more near-death experiences than any other profession on the planet.   
  
It was said that hardship quickened the mind and sharpened skills, so trainees were often deprived of even the most basic of comforts to improve them faster. Since Emilios' coerced band were all youths just out of training, they had little experience of the luxuries to be savoured in the outside world - alcohol among them.  
  
Hariq leaned in closer to his two comrades. Working under such a volatile leader had forged a bond of mutual camaraderie between these three that was unusual in Guild circles, as assassins primarily work alone and don't have the opportunity to form such attachments.   
  
"He said we'll go when he's ready and not before," Hariq whispered.  
  
"I don't understand him," commented the tallest of the three, a lanky boy named Salfos, "He makes us travel for weeks without so much as a break, and then, just when we're close, he decides to bide his time? There's something up with that."  
  
"Perhaps her really *has* gone mad," offered the third, a messy youth with tousled black hair, "I mean, you heard him when we walked in. Remember, when he started *sniffing* all of a sudden, like a dog. And when he had that fat guy with the red hair cornered. He asked him where Logan was. Logan the Swift's been *dead* for months. He was asking after a *dead* guy."  
  
"I know," Salfos shook his head, "But I wouldn't advise saying that too loud, Pablo. We're here to follow his orders, not question his actions. You *know* what happens when you don't follow orders."  
  
"Banishment," inserted Hariq softly, "Just like The Rogue. I couldn't do what she's done though. To defy the law, it's.... it's unthinkable."  
  
"It's foolish," Salfos corrected him, "Especially when they've got guys like him to track you down." Surreptitiously, he jerked a thumb at Emilios. "I'd rather face a hundred hell-hounds than Emilios the Savage when he's angry. He could do more damage then all Seven Hells put together."  
  
"Considering what he did to the innkeeper's son, that's putting it mildly," Pablo retorted, "Poor guy. He only came back for some money for the gate, you heard him say so yourselves."  
  
"Such as life," Salfos said harshly.  
  
"No, such as death."  
  
"He should have cooperated, instead of begging. Everyone knows begging gets you nowhere."  
  
"I suppose," Pablo was forced to concede.  
  
Emilios deftly caught an annoying fly in one hand, crushing it to dust before it even had time to register that it had been caught. Several others buzzed around the pitiful heaps on the floor. He snagged another one that strayed too close, then abruptly became bored and closed his eyes once more. He was erratic that way.  
  
He could hear the trio of youths' conversation clearly, though they thought they were quiet enough to escape his notice. He almost laughed again. Escape his notice? Not with the sensitive new hearing the 'scientists' had given him.   
  
He was glad they feared him. He preferred it that way. He'd had several pupils, and he'd always made sure before anything else that they feared him. Fear was power. Fear led to victory.  
  
And blood.  
  
Absently he patted the sizable drawstring bag attached to his waist. It was a curious sack - bulky and oddly shaped. It bumped against him as he touched it, leaving a red stain on his fur. The bottom of it was soaked a deep, dark crimson. It had hung from his belt for hours now, but this wetness was still moist, and showed no signs of drying any time soon.  
  
The last remnant of an earlier 'disobliging' person.  
  
Emilios smiled, and then frowned again as his mind returned to the problem of his identity. He couldn't believe he'd missed it before. Identity was so important to all assassins! Perhaps it was because he'd been so busy tracking the outlaw. The chase had all but consumed him of late. Yes, that was it. There wasn't anything wrong with him. He'd just been preoccupied, that was all. Just preoccupied.  
  
Somehow the niggling worry that had started up in the back of his brain wasn't abated by this explanation.  
  
Emilios' nose twitched. Logan's scent was very distracting. It was almost like he was here, watching him. Laughing at him. His lip rippled as a wild growl rumbling in his throat. The three assassins looked up uneasily at him, but he didn't appear to have noticed the noise he was making.   
  
His tongue returned to caressing his fangs. It slid over them lovingly. Each one was brilliantly sharp. Capable of cleaving flesh in two better than any blade. They were naturally honed to a wickedly sharp point, like the sabre he'd favoured as his chosen weapon in the days before he discarded it for the more dexterous claw.   
  
He'd always preferred the sabre. It was light and agile; much better suited to his then-scrawny body than the heavy broadsword used by many warriors. Victims had laughed in his face when he threatened them with a sabre. That is, until he'd cut their tongues out with it. They hadn't been able to laugh after that.  
  
All at once a thought struck him. The answer to his question of identity. It was so startlingly simple, yet descriptively ingenious that the growl died in his gullet, to be replaced by a bone-chilling chuckle.  
  
He was no longer Emilios the Savage. That man was dead, and all that remained of him was his hate and his violence.  
  
The figure in the chair smiled.  
  
Emilios was gone.  
  
Long live the Sabretooth.  
  
*******************  
  
It was dark.  
  
That was all she could see. Darkness.  
  
She shivered, tucking her knees under her chin. Why was it so dark? So terribly, terribly black. Had something happened? Was there something wrong with the world that it had consumed itself in this horrible, numbing oblivion? She could barely feel her own limbs. The darkness had seeped into her skin, into her flesh, rendering it without sensation. Dead.  
  
She was frightened.  
  
Absurd really, but it was there all the same.  
  
Fear.  
  
Eating away at her soul. Poisoning her mind with its clasp. She whimpered. It was stupid. She had nothing to fear here but the darkness.  
  
And the fear itself. That terrible, overwhelming and alien feeling, which pierced her soul and engulfed all rational thought until all she wanted to do was open her mouth and scream and scream to make it go away.  
  
A chink of light appeared in her peripheral vision, and with great effort she twisted her deadened body to look at it. This speck of luminosity grew and swelled at an exorbitant rate, until it completely filled her sight.   
  
Her eyeballs ached as sudden searing brightness beat down upon them, but she couldn't look away. Some inexorable force kept her turned towards the light, locking her muscles in one position, refusing her the right to stop looking at it - this salvation that had transmuted into such intense, senseless pain.   
  
She wanted to scream, but her mouth wouldn't work. She wanted to run away, back into the darkness if it meant an end to this agony, but her legs weren't her own any more. She could only watch. A spectator as the rush of almost tangible white light devoured her.  
  
The next thing she knew, someone *was* screaming, but it wasn't her.  
  
She opened her eyes. She hadn't even realised they were closed until that moment. Staring about her, a gasp caught in her throat at the scene of devastation she found herself surrounded by.  
  
It was a wasteland. Chunks of rock and random buildings told her this had once been a town or city of some description, but not any more. Now it was just a wilderness.   
  
Constructions burned freely, and people wandered around them without direction. They were covered in black ash, and some were wounded; blood flowing liberally from various cuts and jagged gashes. They all seemed disorientated, milling about, not seeming to care about how dangerously close they got to the collapsing buildings.  
  
She blinked. What was this? Where was she? What had happened to the darkness and the blinding light? She sat on the floor, knees still drawn up to her chest; but the ground was hot against her body. Hastily she scrambled to her feet, marvelling at how she could now move again. She swayed, light-headedness plunging her off-balance at the sudden change in altitude.  
  
A smell of charred flesh permeated the air, sliding into her nostrils with carnal glee. She snorted, but it retreated further inside her, making her gag as it filled her throat. She coughed, but this involved opening her mouth, and the foul stench invaded her maw, spreading across her tongue until she felt like vomiting it away.  
  
Suddenly a hand reached out and grasped her shoulder. She whirled round, only to be confronted with such a pathetic soul that it made her usually cold heart wrench within her chest.   
  
A boy, just a little younger than herself, with dishevelled black hair and wide brown eyes. There was a large cut on his temple that was bleeding profusely, red fluid leaking down his face and dripping off his trembling jawbone. His clothes were burnt beyond recognition, and here and there scorched flesh could be seen peeking through, blistered and angry.  
  
Yet it was his eyes that held her. She stared into them, reading the sorrow and pain written there. Such sorrow as should never be experienced by a person, especially someone as young as this boy. She could see shattered innocence in those soft brown orbs, buried beneath sadness so intense it was a wonder he hadn't broken beneath the weight, soul crushed into a thousand infinitesimal pieces.  
  
It pained her, and, at the same time, also frightened her. Mentally, she berated herself. She shouldn't be frightened by something like this. She'd seen things much worse than this in her lifetime. Much worse. She shouldn't.... *couldn't* be scared.  
  
But she was.   
  
Dear gods, but she was.  
  
He reached out towards her, and she saw that his hand was little more than a bloody stump. Fingers blown off in some kind of explosion, the remainder of his skin had been blemished by fire.   
  
She skipped backwards, away from him, unwilling to be touched by such personified wretchedness and hurt.   
  
He took a staggering step forwards, lurching on feet that seemed unsuited to him. His mouth opened, and an ephemeral whisper passed over his cracked lips; "Why didn't you do something?"  
  
"What?" She was confused. Do something? Her? What was she supposed to have done?  
  
"This is all your fault. You had the power to stop this from happening. Now all is lost," the boy intoned.  
  
She shook her head, hair brushing her cheeks and shoulders as it swung back and forth. "No, no! How can you mean that? I didn't have nothing to do with this."  
  
"You lie. This is your doing. Your fault. Your fault!" He took another step towards her, scowling. Then a brief expression of pain crossed his marred face, and he collapsed soundlessly at her feet.   
  
She stared at him, at the widening pool of red around his skull. She didn't have to bend down to know that he was dead. A hand flew to her mouth. She'd seen death before, but never like this. Never so pathetically tragic as this single, insignificant youth lying forgotten in the dust.   
  
Even as she watched, the corpse began to decompose. Flesh rotted away to reveal stark white bones, which in turn crumbled to dust that was blown away by the tugging wind until nothing remained of him. It was sickening, yet simultaneously fascinating in its alacrity.   
  
An anguished squeal rent the air, "My son!"   
  
Her eyes jerked up to see a peasant woman clad in a tattered shawl running towards her. This woman, too, was burned and covered in black ash, the light of despair glinting in her eyes.  
  
She took yet another step backwards as the woman reached the spot and paused for a moment, looking about her in a bewildered manner. Then her haggard gaze fell upon the mound of rapidly vanishing powder that had once been the tragic boy, and the woman fell to her knees.  
  
"My son! Oh, my son! What's become of you?" she wailed mournfully, picking up handfuls of the dust only to have it whipped away from her the moment she touched it. Her desperate cry rang out again as she tried to hold onto a small scrap, but all in vain. Soon there was nothing left of him but her mournful shouts and pathetic tears.  
  
The girl dropped her gaze and turned to leave the peasant-woman alone with her grief, but a condemning voice abruptly sliced through the atmosphere, causing her to stop.  
  
"You!" it screeched. She turned back to see the bedraggled woman pointing at her with one long, bony finger. "You did this. You killed my son!"  
  
"No, I didn't," the girl protested. "I never did nothing."  
  
"You did, you did!" the woman fairly screamed, "You killed him! You condemned us all to death, you monster!"  
  
"I didn't do nothing!" the girl shouted back, her own voice cracking. She hadn't done anything. Why did people keep blaming her for all this destruction? It wasn't her fault. It wasn't!  
  
"From sundown to sunup all will be blood, and the sky shall burn red with the flames of despair!" the older woman pronounced mournfully. "Remember that? You knew! And yet you did nothing to prevent it! Too caught up in your own affairs to see the bigger picture. Look at what your selfishness has done, you beast!"  
  
The girl stared at where the woman indicated, up into the sky above them. It was an enraged, blazing red. Crimson clouds scudded along across a vermilion sky, and the very air itself seemed to breathe death and shining devastation. Her eyes took on the shape of new moons.  
  
"But.... but I...." she stammered.   
  
"Don't deny it. You knew, didn't you? *Didn't you*?"  
  
She dropped her eyes, hiding behind a thick curtain of hair. "Yes, I knew about those words. But not all of it. Not all.... this." She gestured around at the patent calamity that had plagued the once-city. "I only ever saw part of the prophecy. I never knew.... I never knew...."  
  
"Monster!" the peasant woman yelled at the top of her damaged lungs. The exertion sent her off into a coughing fit, and she fell forward onto her hands and knees, red liquid sputtering from her mouth with every spasm of her injured chest. "You.... foul monster!" She still gasped. "You admit it! You knew, and you did nothing! Nothing!"  
  
"I didn't mean to! What was I supposed to do? I'm just one person. How much can one person do to make a difference in something as big as this?"  
  
"Mon.... ster...." The woman's arms crumpled beneath her, and she plunged nose-first into the dirt, still accusing and cursing the individual stood before her. The girl knelt beside her, anxious to do something to help - to alleviate this feeling of inexplicable guilt pulsing inside her. She'd never felt anything like it before. Guilt was just not something she *did*. It wasn't her style.  
  
The wounded peasant pushed her away, smearing blood on her pale face. The girl stared at her, reaching up to touch the sticky liquid so callously daubed on her. The woman glared with such hate and malice that it cut deeply, down to her very soul, laying her spirit open to the universe and all who chose to trample it.   
  
She'd never felt so guilty or vulnerable before. Wordlessly, she rose to her feet and ran.   
  
The woman's hoarse cries tolled in her ears. They followed her as she sped away, echoing inside her mind and gripping her psyche in an embrace so tight she felt sure she must burst or be squeezed to a bloody pulp from the inside out.  
  
"Murderer! Murderer! Look what you did to us. You murdered before the coming of the glittering darkness, and you caused all the death that resulted from it, because you knew, and yet you did nothing! *Nothing*!"  
  
She ran. Ran until she felt she could run no more, and had to force herself onwards through sheer force of will. Her feet thudded on the baked ground, and her bones jarred with each and every step.   
  
She had to get away. Had to. This wasn't her fault. It couldn't be her fault. How could one person be to blame for all this? It just wasn't possible. She shook her head. They couldn't be right. They just couldn't.  
  
Could they?  
  
She almost cried out when she fell over the embankment. Such was her fervour to escape the peasant woman's mournful and accusing remonstrations that she didn't see the ridge, and pitched over the edge at full speed.   
  
She tumbled head over heels, a flailing mass of limbs and entangled cloak rolling down the slope on the other side. By the time she reached the bottom she was completely entwined in her raiment, and spent a good few minutes extricating herself. When she did eventually look up, it took all her strength to keep from fleeing back up the bank again.   
  
A small figure was knelt in the dust with her back to the slope. By the slender droop to the shoulders and tiny waist it was clear she was female. The red light of the sky encompassed her frail form, bathing her in an eerie, macabre light. Her hands were clasped to her face, and she was shaking as wrathful sobs ripped through her body. Strange dancing shadows flitted about her, making it hard to see more than a vague outline of her body against the stark backdrop of the barren wasteland.  
  
The fallen girl stared, and had the most bizarre feeling that somehow she knew this person - though how was a mystery. She gaped for a few moments, trying to discern what this strange feeling of recognition meant. Yet nothing came to her. No illumination of sudden understanding dawned. It was still just her, wondering; like a small child at the immensity of the world when wandering outdoors for the first time.  
  
Without really thinking what she was doing, the green-eyed girl rose to her feet and walked sedately over to the crying bundle. Upon reaching her side, she stared down at her and asked; "Why are you crying?"  
  
The figure didn't even look up. "Because everything I held dear is gone."  
  
"Gone? Everything?"  
  
She nodded. "Uh-huh."  
  
Her voice. It seemed so familiar, yet she couldn't put her finger on what it was. The cloaked girl knuckled down to sit beside the other individual, whose hands were still pressed against her face, tears leaking copiously between her fingers.   
  
Silence stretched between them for many moments, punctuated only by the rasping breaths of the crying girl and the muted screams of people too near the burning buildings beyond the top of the ridge. Yet even these tortured yells seemed distant and far away, and the two females sat in taciturnity, neither one really looking at anything in particular, least of all each other.  
  
Finally the weeping girl gave a long, juddering sigh. "Is it true, what they say?"  
  
"Is what true?" the cloaked girl asked, although she already knew what the answer would be.  
  
"That you knew this was going to happen. That you knew the danger was coming, but that you didn't tell anyone."  
  
Silence. Then: "Kinda. I knew.... bits. Nothing like this though. What I knew was scratchy. Unclear. Nobody would tell me what it meant."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Again, that brooding silence. The cloaked girl shuffled slightly. She didn't like sitting still. It had always been part of her job, but she'd never felt comfortable doing it.  
  
"I'm glad you say that."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because otherwise you'd feel guilty about him."  
  
The green-eyed girl blinked, perplexed. "Feel guilty about who?"  
  
"Him?"   
  
"I still don't understand," she repeated, "According to all the others, I got plenty to feel guilty about. But according to you, I'll only feel guilty about 'him'. Who's 'him'?"  
  
In answer, the girl extended one slender hand and pointed over another ridge a few feet away.   
  
Puzzled, the cloaked girl rose and walked to the edge of it. It was a lot steeper that the previous one she'd tumbled down: nearly a cliff face, in fact. The valley below was swathed in shadows so thick they seemed impenetrable to the naked eye. She peered into them, trying to see what they concealed, what the girl meant for her to view. But she saw nothing. Nothing but darkness.  
  
"I don't see anything," she called over her shoulder.  
  
"Look harder," came the woeful reply.  
  
She squinted into the gloom, narrowing her eyes until they were no more than slits. Was that....? Yes, she *could* see something. An outline. Faint in the murk. As she stared at it, it seemed to become clearer, as if lit by an inner light.  
  
"I see something."   
  
"No, not something," she almost jumped at the sudden presence of the crying female at her side. Her voice was infuriatingly familiar, but there was something altered about it. It lacked something in its flat, dejected tone, but she couldn't think what.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Not something," the weeping girl recurred tonelessly, "Someone."  
  
The green-eyed girl swivelled to look at her, and at once her jaw dropped open as, in the light, she recognised who it was stood there. Her face was sallow and dull, her eyes hollow and lacking their usual vim and verve. There was no trace of audacity in her voice, but it was her all the same.  
  
"Shrimp?"   
  
She could hardly believe it. The shrimp? Here, in this dreadful, bleak place? How was that possible? How could that be?  
  
Kitty only stared into the valley, her face impassive. Unreadable. "Someone." She whimpered softly.  
  
An immense feeling of dread manifested in the cloaked girl's stomach, and suddenly she was afraid to look. Afraid to turn her head and see what lay in that roughly hewn basin.  
  
Then her eyes began to move all by themselves. Some relentless force dragged at her eyeballs, compelling them to peer into the valley and see what it embraced in its receding shadows. She struggled, but the strange force was like fate - unchangeable and useless to fight.   
  
A large pole stood there, jagged at its tip, like someone jumping upon it had broken it off. One end was embedded deep into the ground, and what jutted above the surface was at least twenty feet high. The wood was calloused and old, with large splinters breaking off in several places. It looked like it could collapse at any given moment.  
  
Yet it wasn't the pole itself that claimed one's attention. Rather, it was what was attached to it.  
  
Near the top, in a position that usually signified high status, but which now only communicated that this was the lowest of the low. At first it could be mistaken for a bundle of rags, blowing gently in the harsh breeze. Then, upon closer inspection, a body became discernable. Shattered and drooping, it hung there, tragically forgotten by the world that had driven the life from it. Its hands were tied, as were its bare feet. Thick twine cut into the yielding flesh, sending rivulets of blood coursing through the air, to fall and hit the ground so far below with little more than a small splash.   
  
More blood spurted sporadically from its chest where it had been viciously impaled on the pole. Red fluid tarnished the thick timber above, showing where the corpse had slithered down until finally coming to rest where it now was.  
  
Its head was flung back, and its tongue lolled lifelessly from its mouth, sharp teeth stained by the crimson that had bubbled up from its insides during its last breaths.   
  
Its eyes were open, and seemed to stare at the top of the ridge where the two girls stood. Sad and accusing, these golden orbs mourned silently, watched over only by the burning red sky. The grief in them was soul crushing even in death. A sight that would never.... *could* never be forgotten by any who saw it. Such sad eyes that told their own tragic story; ironically set in their broken canvas of bloodstained blue fur....  
  
"Not something. Someone." Kitty murmured again.  
  
The cloaked girl opened her mouth and screamed.  
  
*******************  
  
Rogue awoke with a jolt. Her eyelids snapped open like coiled springs, and her breath came in short gasps as she sat paralysed in the crook of her branch.   
  
Wide-eyed, she stared about her, thudding heart relenting a little as she realised where she was. Gone were the evil red sky and all the destruction it entailed. In their place was the familiar dimness of a forest at night. Comforting in its quiet and natural calm.   
  
She sighed, releasing the pent up emotion that had collected in her chest and letting it dance away on the cool air.  
  
She'd been dreaming. The same dream - no, the same nightmare - that had plagued her since she'd read that small fragment of ancient parchment so many months ago.   
  
It had all seemed so innocent at the time. She'd not long been an outcast of the Guild, and had taken shelter in an abandoned house deep in the south. Shaking Sickness had long since rid the place of its inhabitants, leaving it open for any traveller such as herself to just waltz in and take advantage of its comforts and unintentional hospitality.   
  
It had been foolish to trap herself thus, but she'd been so weak from hunger and exhaustion. Pickings were especially bad in rural areas, and she'd pushed herself too hard in an effort to escape from the pursuers she'd known the council were going to send after her.   
  
Still, the stately house, with its spacious if ill-kept gardens and luxurious rooms had been a dangerous boon. A risk.   
  
There had been signs all around of previous raiders. Such bounty did not go unnoticed for long. They'd all just taken what they could from the kitchens and pantries and gone, not bothering to investigate any further into the house.   
  
Rogue, however, had, and as a result she'd come across a strange room, reserved for intellectual studies by the look of it.   
  
It had intrigued her. Many were the times she'd been sent on missions against scholars and dangerous revolutionaries when she was still an assassin. Their research and varied texts had always absorbed her, and she was hence interested by what she found in that room.   
  
So many scrolls, each one different and many written in curious languages she neither knew nor recognized from her travels. There had been one on the table that was particularly fascinating. It was scribed in some ancient, unknown language, and beside it was a scrap of parchment on which a rough translation had been begun. The contemporary version, which was entitled only 'Texts of Calorsiel', was incomplete, and she'd attributed that to the Shaking Sickness having claimed the translator before he or she could finish.  
  
Intrigued, she'd read it, but hadn't understood it. The words were gibberish to her. Disturbing, disconcerting gibberish.   
  
Then the raiders had come. A horde of unknown men who she'd assumed was the hunting party sent to execute her. The sight through the window of their many shields sliding through the open doorway below had startled her, as had the odd design upon the metal. It wasn't like the Guild to advertise their presence so blatantly with such a delicate and horrendously beautiful depiction. Blades were for using, not painting on shields.  
  
Unwilling to fall so easily, but still too weak to fight them, she'd fled. Curiously enough, none of them followed her as far as she could tell, and it wasn't until weeks later that she became aware of a much smaller group of individuals tracking her movements.   
  
It was not long after this narrow escape that the nightmares had started. Images in her subconscious that hearkened back to that fragment of translation, and turned her sleep into simply a sequence of dismal images, and which had eventually driven her to cross her own personal boundaries of taste and seek the aid of a seer, in the vague hope that doing so would help in her understanding of her dreams and banish them from her resting psyche.  
  
Rogue sucked in a lungful of air to steady her thundering heartbeat. This proved that her visit and conversation with the Powers That Be had been worthless. The nightmare remained. It was still there, still the same.  
  
But wait.... it wasn't the same. Well, it was the same, and yet it was different. Something new had been added to it.   
  
She searched her memory, mind disorientated from her abrupt yank back into reality. Piece by piece the dream returned, causing her emerald eyes to widen as she recalled the horrific imagoes that had played out in her brain mere moments ago.   
  
The shrimp, crying in the dust. Talking about feeling guilty about 'him'. Then the elf, trussed up and skewered on a pole, blank eyes gazing mournfully at her from where they'd sunk into their dead sockets.  
  
Rogue swallowed, her throat dry. It had seemed so real. She could almost smell the stench of torched flesh, and hear the screams of those tortured souls trapped forever in that hellish place. She had to remind herself that it was just a dream. A figment of her imagination. Not true. She was here, safe in her lofty roost. Still on her journey, still with her two travelling companions alive and well. She was The Rogue. Fearless. The one who could withstand anything and come out of it unaffected. She'd seen people butchered since she was a small child, and committed murder herself dozens of times. One recurring nightmare shouldn't be enough to shake her up.   
  
Should it?  
  
Despite these rationalizations, her eyes slid sideways to where she knew Kitty and Kurt were perched a few branches away.   
  
Moonlight filtered through the sparse foliage of the Elevada trees, illuminating the sleeping form of Kitty, still huddled in the same spot she'd fallen asleep in.   
  
Rogue frowned. She was supposed to be on watch. Hours had passed, and the elf should have woken her by now to take over from him. The ex-assassin cast about for the furry boy. He was harder to spot, his dark coat fading into the darkness almost completely.  
  
Ah, there he was. Still crouched where he'd been before, tailed wrapped round the thick bough beneath him.   
  
A tiny molecule of relief manifested inside Rogue at the sight of him, whole and lacking any wood through his thin chest. It was silly, but remained there no matter what she thought of its presence.   
  
Another frown creased her forehead. Not only had he not woken the shrimp, but also, he appeared not to have moved himself either. Momentarily she wondered if she was the one whose timing was off, but then disregarded this thought. As an assassin schooling under Logan's tutelage, accurate timing was a must if you even wanted to survive past basic training.  
  
Why hadn't he moved? Curious, and perhaps a little worried - though she never would have admitted to it - Rogue moved along her chosen branch to get a better look at him.   
  
Kurt crouched, frozen, for all the world a piece of intricately carved wood. He didn't even appear to be breathing. Rogue edged closer, her training showing itself in the silence with which she moved despite her armour.   
  
Soon she was above him, and could stare down at his inert form easily. He wasn't asleep. Golden eyes stared impassively at the taciturn nightlife, their owner deep in his own contemplations. The only movement he made was an occasional blink of his eyelids.   
  
Rogue looked at him. She didn't understand the elf. She'd tried and tried, but still he kept on surprising her. Everything he did intrigued and simultaneously annoyed the hell out of her. How he could quell her violence with a well-chosen tone of voice, yet the next moment be gently coaxing an obnoxious brat with a fear of heights up a tree. The fact that he could even stand the shrimp was a mystery to her, and he actually seemed to genuinely like her as well. Strange. Then again, he seemed to like herself too. At least, he accepted her enough to still want to travel with her even when she'd threatened to kill him several dozen times.   
  
Either he was very trusting, or else incredibly stupid. She still wasn't sure which. Rogue gave a small sigh. She doubted she'd ever truly understand the inner-workings of his fuzzy mind, no matter how hard she tried.  
  
At the tiny sound Kurt's hypersensitive ears immediately pricked up. They twitched, as if pinpointing the sound. Then he tilted his head backwards to look up at her. Their gazes locked, and for a few painstaking moments they stared, each sizing the other up.  
  
Eventually, it was Kurt who broke the unspoken stalemate. His mouth twitched into a wan smile. "You can come down you know, Fraulein," he whispered, "This branch is thicker than the others. It'll take our combined weight."  
  
Obligingly, Rogue swung down off her perch, landing beside him with a faint thump that caused the diamond shaped leaves to quiver slightly. However, as Kurt had said, the bough was strong and sturdy, and it took both their weights easily.   
  
On the next branch along Kitty stirred, but remained slumbering.  
  
"Was ist los?" the elf asked in a hushed whisper. His voice was all cheerfulness and bounce, but it was forced. Painfully so.  
  
Rogue avoided his gaze. She didn't like talking much, and on those rare occasions when she did indulge in it she found it easier not to look at people. If you couldn't see them, then you couldn't see their reaction to what you'd said.  
  
"How're y'all holding up?" she muttered.   
  
He seemed surprised at the question. "Fine. What makes you ask?"  
  
Rogue shifted uncomfortably. What was she doing? This wasn't like her. "I just thought.... you know...." What *did* she think? What on earth had possessed her to interrupt his grief like this?   
  
If Rogue was perplexed, then Kurt was even more so. Was The Rogue actually asking him if he was *alright*? Cold, harsh Rogue? He shook his head, trying to rid himself of his confusion that he might better concentrate on what she was saying.  
  
"You seemed.... I dunno.... kinda lonely. Sitting here by yourself, I mean."  
  
He blinked, unsure of how to react. "I was just.... thinking."  
  
"What about?"  
  
"Just.... stuff."  
  
Silence. Neither of them knew quite what to say. Rogue stole a glance at him. He sat, dejected and quiet. Unexpectedly she was struck by a memory. She recalled another person who'd sat, pondering a parent in the moonlight. She'd gone and sat by him too, and never regretted doing so. But that was before she became outcast. That was before he....  
  
Finally, Rogue sighed, and did something she never thought she'd ever do again after the hurt which had ensued the last time she comforted someone in this way. All the walls she'd carefully constructed around her emotions seemed frail and fragile when confronted with this one furry boy, grieving for his lost mother.   
  
"You wanna talk about it?"  
  
He turned to look at her, but still she avoided his eyes. Not all the walls had been broken down yet. He stared, unblinking. Her hood was down, but her face was turned away, masking the effort it had taken for her to ask such a simple question. She spoke again.  
  
"It's not your fault, you know."  
  
"I know," he replied, "But still, I can't help feeling guilty. All my life I was her protector. True, I could never really beat anybody in a fight, but I protected her in a different way. I kept her safe. I *prevented* danger from reaching her."  
  
"And I'll bet she was real grateful too," Rogue commented. "That was why she sent you away when she knew something was coming that you couldn't prevent."  
  
"Could I have though?" A small exhalation of breath escaped Kurt's lips. "I guess I'll never know."  
  
Awkward silence again. Then: "I never knew mah parents."  
  
He looked up. "Entschuldigung? How do you mean?"  
  
"Exactly what I said. Never knew nothing about them. Who they were, what happened to them. Nothing. I was raised by the Guild. They were mah family, of a sort. Then I was given to Logan when I was old enough to hold a sword. He was the closest I ever got to a father."  
  
"I never knew my father either," Kurt replied. "Mother never talked about him. I asked her a couple of times when I was little - when father's and their children used to come to see her. When I saw them, so happy and content with each other, I'd wonder if I had one, and I'd ask her about it. But she'd go all tight-lipped and say it wasn't important and weren't we fine on our own? I stopped asking after a while, but I never stopped wondering."  
  
"Harsh." Rogue groaned inwardly at her inarticulacy. Someone was actually opening up to her, and all she could think of to say was 'harsh'? Then again, words had never really been her strong suit.  
  
"I didn't really know much about *her*, either," Kurt continued, "Only what she told me, or wanted me to know. She was my mother, and I loved her, but I always felt like she was keeping something from me. I suppose I thought that if I was a good son then one day she'd tell me what it was, but now she never will."  
  
"You *were* a good son, elf," Rogue said sharply, "Don't ever doubt that. Hey, you even tried to take *me* on, and that's saying something about how much y'all cared about your Mom. You can't help it if the situation was taken out of your control. I'll bet that if she were still here, all you'd have to do is ask and she'd tell you anything you wanna know because she loves you too."  
  
Kurt stared at Rogue. Did she just.... was she actually being *nice* to him? This went beyond strange into the realms of the bizarre, and for a second he mused that he'd fallen asleep and was dreaming. It was so unusual that he simply gaped at her, mouth slightly ajar. Rogue felt her pale cheeks colour under his intense scrutiny.  
  
"You trying to catch flies or something?" she quipped, self-conscious. His jaw abruptly snapped shut, and he looked away, also embarrassed.   
  
Yet another tense silence engulfed the space between them. Rogue studied a nearby leaf, tracing the intricate vein-structure with her eyes like it was the most interesting thing in the world.   
  
~I'd rather battle a hundred bloodthirsty mobs than try my hand at conversation,~ she thought bitterly. ~I just don't *do* words very well. Oh well, here goes.~  
  
The girl licked her lips. "What makes y'all think your Mom was keeping something from you?"  
  
"Ach, lots of different things," Kurt answered, staring off into space, "Mostly small stuff. Oddities I noticed. Like how she didn't have a Germanic accent when she spoke Common. It was almost like Common was her first language or something."  
  
"Lots of people don't have an accent when speaking Common Tongue. It just means they're very fluent."  
  
"Yeah, I suppose. But there were other things too. Little stuff I found out by accident." He drew a deep sigh.  
  
"Like?"  
  
"Well, like once when I was rolling up her sleeping mat for her I found some old letters stuffed inside the lining. I didn't think much of them, and I was going to put them back - honest I was - but then some of the words caught my eye. So I started reading them. I didn't mean to invade her privacy, but once I started I just couldn't help myself but keep on going."  
  
~By Plechtoh, this kid has a serious do-gooder streak in him.~ Rogue thought wryly.  
  
Kurt went on; "You can imagine my surprise when, I saw.... well.... They were *love* letters to my mother from someone. They didn't say her name, but I could tell they were for her because of some of their content. I couldn't believe it. My mother's old suitor. They seemed very close too. He talked about running away with her. Taking her away from.... now what was it the letter said? Her 'prison with the gaoler of ageless white.' That was when I first started wondering. She'd never mentioned anything about a prison to me, let alone a suitor she'd had there. I never broached the subject with her because I didn't want her to know that I'd been prying into her secrets, but the curiosity burned inside me everyday.  
  
"It increased even more when I saw her pendant. It was a simple thing she kept hidden away with her seer equipment. I never would have known about it at all if she hadn't dropped her bag one time. I bent to help her pick everything up, but she pushed me away when I touched an old gold bauble on a broken chain. It was strange. She clutched the thing to her chest like it was the most precious item in the world to her, and sent me out of the room because I'd seen it. I knew it was a love token, even though I'd only glimpsed it for a moment, because of what was inscribed on the side. 'Purity and Absolution'. The same thing as was always written at the bottom of each of the letters.   
  
"From then on the curiosity inside me changed from an ember into a real fire, and I wanted to know with all my heart what had happened to the man who'd given her that memento. What had made them part? Where was he now? All questions I could never bring myself to ask her, but which I wanted the answers to so badly that sometimes it hurt."  
  
Rogue listened to his story, surprise creeping into her gaze. Who'd have thought the elf could keep a secret like that? What was even more puzzling was that he'd chosen to share it with *her*. It was so.... so private. She could well imagine him telling the shrimp, but her? She'd given him little reason to trust her with something so personal.   
  
Unbidden, a miniscule, inexplicable hint of pride ignited within her.  
  
Kurt dropped his chin onto his chest. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this, Fraulein," he said huskily, "You hardly need my problems added onto your own."  
  
Rogue drew one knee up to her chest, and balanced for a moment in quiet contemplation before speaking again. "No, elf, it ain't healthy to keep problems and secrets inside. Sometimes.... sometimes you just need to get things out in the open. Talk about them a bit. If you say things aloud them they seem smaller. More manageable."  
  
You hypocrite, admonished her almost-conscience. Why don't you take your own advice sometime?  
  
Kurt said nothing as he digested these atypically given words of wisdom.   
  
Through the trees, the first flickers of morning light were becoming apparent. At this height, the sun's earliest weak rays crept easily over the horizon and wound their way into the foliage above. Dew hung heavy on the air, and whenever either of the awkward duo exhaled, a whirling mass of tiny droplets spun away from their mouths, dancing wild steps to an unchained rhythm.  
  
A miniature storm of beads fanned out into the atmosphere as Kurt finally replied to Rogue's comments.  
  
"Danke, Frauline. For listening to me."  
  
She grunted in acknowledgement, and then tilted her head to look up into the upper branches. Feeble sunlight played across her face, giving her pale skin an almost unnatural quality.  
  
"It's nearly morning," she surmised gruffly. "Time to be moving on soon." Her eyes strayed to where Kitty lay, still sleeping. "You'll have to wake her, 'cause I sure as hell ain't doing it."  
  
Kurt followed her gaze. "Why don't we let her sleep for a little while longer? She was really tired last night."  
  
"Not mah problem," Rogue stated, some of her usual brusqueness returning. "We gotta go as soon as possible."  
  
"Not before breakfast, surely?" Kurt asked innocently. "You know what'll happen to me if I don't eat, Fraulein."  
  
Rogue spread her arms wide; "And just where did you expect to get breakfast? Elevada trees don't bear no fruit, you know, elf."  
  
A diminutive, yet mischievous smile suddenly graced his furry face - the first in many hours. "You'd be surprised," was all he said. Then, before she could so much as open her mouth to respond, he'd launched himself from their bough into the leafy embrace of an adjacent tree, and shinned up its ample trunk.  
  
Rogue was left alone, staring after him, with only the numerous buzzing insects and an unconscious Changeling for company. Seeds of resentment sprouted in her gut, rumbling around inside her at his impulsive departure. Yet, mixed with them was a sense of relief at that tiny grin.   
  
~Fancy that. Perhaps there *is* something to this whole talking thing after all.~  
  
It wasn't long before Kurt returned, the shaking braches signalling his arrival. To Rogue's surprise he didn't leap from the neighbouring tree back into theirs like she'd assumed he would. Instead, a blue mass of fuzz dropped from directly above to land - somewhat shakily - beside her.   
  
He tottered slightly, losing some of his customary sure-footedness to the clutch of oddly shaped objects claiming his arms. However, he quickly regained his balance by wrapping his dexterous tail around a thick twig and levering himself back into position.  
  
"Breakfast is served," he tossed her one of the objects. She caught it deftly in one hand.   
  
It was a large, gourd-like fruit, and looked like a cross between a pear and something called a coconut, which she'd tried once on a mission to the coast. It was hefty - about the size of a horse's head - and had a sickly greenish pallor to its rough skin. She tapped it with one knuckle, receiving a hollow 'clunk' for her troubles.  
  
"Balsha Fruit," Kurt supplied at her bemused expression. "They grow right at the very top of Elevada trees. Most people don't even know they exist, since they only grow at certain times of the year, and are incredibly tricky to pick." He hunkered down, two more under each arm. Rogue opened her mouth, but he pre-empted her question. "Hey, you don't live in a forest as long as me without learning a few things."  
  
The ex-assassin turned the peculiar item over, running her fingers over its leathery hide and tapping it. The skin was thick. Thicker than anything she'd ever come across before, and tough. She drew her dagger and made to hack it open, but Kurt gave a short laugh at her action.  
  
"Nein, you do not need a blade, Frauline. Here, just do this."  
  
Curious, Rogue watched as the elf adroitly took the fruit and, choosing a spot where the colour was more yellow than green, bounced it on the branch. Effortlessly, a crack split apart the discoloured surface, releasing a gush of clear, sticky liquid that hit the bark with a wet splat.  
  
"It tastes better when the juice is drained off," he explained.  
  
She nodded, copying him and opening her own fruit. Some of the fluid splashed her cloak, but she hardly noticed. Curling her fingers inside the split as Kurt did, she scooped out a portion of the soft pink flesh within. More juice ran down her hand, dripping off her arm. Then she ate it.  
  
The taste was unlike anything she'd ever consumed before in her life. Sweet, but with a sour edge. It powered through her taste buds, slicing a path across her tongue and drowning her in its intense, unexpected flavour. Her green eyes enlarged.  
  
"Good, huh?" Kurt asked, licking the juice from where it had caught in his fur of his tridactyl hand.  
  
Rogue's head bobbed up and down in agreement, as she delved in again for a second glorious helping.  
  
~And to think, I never even knew these things existed. You learn something new every day."  
  
"Thanks, elf."  
  
*******************  
  
A few feet away, eyes squeezed tightly shut; Kitty lay, to all intents and purposes asleep. In reality, however, she'd been conscious for a while. Long enough to hear what passed between her two travelling companions.   
  
Originally she'd intended to sit up and join Kurt herself as he sat alone, apologising profusely for missing her watch; but when Rogue joined him, she had to admit, the intimidating figure of the older girl had kept her firmly in place, feigning slumber.   
  
It wasn't that she was scared - well, not much anyway - it was just that, well, Rogue had this way of looking at you. Harsh and cold, like she was weighing you up as a person and then tossing you aside as worthless without even having to say a word to your face. Despite how much Kitty told herself she didn't care, that the opinion of an outcast murderer meant nothing anyway, it still hurt.   
  
Since she was a small child, Kitty had craved acceptance. Living away from the city, she'd always been an outsider to the kids there. Visiting. Never staying. Someone alien, to be mocked for her old, threadbare clothes and funny manner of speech when she appeared. An object of sport and game, only to be cast aside when taunting her became boring and fresh entertainment presented itself.  
  
Her childhood had been a lonely one. Eventually she'd found solace by throwing herself into her work. She was as good as any boy, her father had often said proudly, usually ruffling her hair in the way that he did when he was pleased with her. Though, as good as her work was, he'd never let her wear breeches or let her cut her hair short like a boy, however much she'd begged him to.   
  
She supposed that, in her mind, she'd wanted to rid herself of her feminine façade because she held onto the belief that boys didn't get lonely, that boys didn't hurt inside when insults were callously thrown at them as a joke by cruel city youths.   
  
However, no matter how hard she toiled, or however much satisfaction she gained from her labour at home and out in the forest, she'd always hurt. Always desired a kind word or a friendly gesture from youngsters who passed their cart when she and her father went to market.   
  
Once she'd tried to prove she was just as good as them by teaching herself how to ride their ancient, weather-beaten mare, Alsin. But they'd gathered around her as she sat upon the horse's back, pointing and laughing at her seat, how she held the reins, how she could never ride as well as a city kid.  
  
Kitty hated rejection. She covered her desire for companionship in bravado and audacity, never letting the world see how much it pained her to be unwanted. Even by Rogue. Stupid, insignificant Rogue, with her savagery, her violence and her strange aspiration to walk straight into the heart of the Silver Sword's evil empire. Her cold-hearted words still wounded Kitty, and she was loath to voluntarily inflict them upon herself again by seeking out the girl's company.  
  
So it came as a complete shock to the Changeling when Rogue's voice, usually so abrasive and brusque, filtered softly into her ears - or as soft as was possible for someone like her. Kitty did a double take - was that actually *Rogue* talking? But she was being *pleasant*. And to *Kurt* too, whom she could often be heard either complaining about or threatening with one of her three blades.   
  
Kitty had listened to them intently, drinking in their strained, gauche camaraderie with a thirst. She didn't care that it wasn't directed at her. Kindliness was something she'd known little of until Kurt came along. He was the first person beyond her parents who'd treated her decently. Like a comrade. A friend. When he'd broken down, it had been like a stab in her own heart. She couldn't bear to see him in pain, but found herself unable to do anything for him other than stick close by and follow him on his journey.   
  
It felt good to hear him confront his problems, even if it was to Rogue and not to her. She smiled, glad that he was able to get them off his chest, and strangely grateful to Rogue for doing what she herself could not. Helping him. Making him feel better.  
  
As they cracked open their Balsha fruit, Kitty couldn't help a wry thought crossing her mind concerning Rogue's unanticipated, but welcome compassion.  
  
~It would seem that miracles, like, *do* happen after all.~   
  
*******************  
  
To Be Continued....  
  
*******************  
*TRANSLATIONS*  
  
GERMANIC:  
Kleine Sache ~ Little One/Thing  
Was ist los? ~ What's the matter?  
Entschuldigung ~ I'm sorry/excuse me?  
  
  
EARTH-REALM TRIVIA:  
  
*There are few translations in this chapter, so I thought I'd include a few odds and ends of trivia people might want explaining - allusions made and culture references mostly. If anybody thinks I've missed anything, or you don't understand something mentioned here, then let me know and I'll include it in the next instalment.*  
  
'Plechtoh and Kirkus' ~ The two suns in Earth-Realm's sky  
  
Several times now, Rogue has sworn by something called 'The Seven Hells'. I don't really suppose it needs explaining, but this section was looking a little sparse, so I'll let you know what exactly she means when she says this. The common belief in Earth-Realm is that demons, imps and the like all reside in a plain of existence known only as 'The Seven Hells.' The First Hell is inhabited by mischief demons, and each ascending Hell has worse occupants than the last, until finally, you reach The Seventh (and worst) Hell. The ancient scriptures can probably explain what you find there better than I can, so here you go;  
  
"...beneath the curve of the bone-arch, and past the river of blood,   
down the corridor made from screams that last forever and a day;   
there sits He, Lord of All, resplendent in his mantle of flesh... upon   
His throne of taut hide...where no mortal eye may look upon...until  
that day when they cross the river and pay the boatman with a pound  
of their own flesh...."  
  
Nice, huh? Now guess who *that* could be. 


	8. An Assassin's Soul

DISCLAIMER: X-Men:Evo belongs to Warner Bros. And Marvel Comics. I have never, and shall never own them, no matter how much I may want to. I've simply warped them to fit my own twisted mind. However, this fic and any original work herein is officially mine, and anyone trying to steal it will find out how painful a weapon a computer mouse can when used by someone with imagination.  
  
WARNINGS: This is an AU (Alternative Universe) fic. Everything has been transplanted into a fantasy universe of my creation. Inspirations, despite what you might initially think, aren't actually from a certain Peter-Jackson-esque film, since I started work on this before I ever *saw* that movie. Influences rather include InterNutter's spiffy fic 'Mein Teuful' (if you haven't yet read this then go do it *now*!) and various other sources I'll explain later.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm sorry this chapter took so long, but university is very time consuming and I've been finding it difficult putting time aside to tweak this fic into a presentable shape. Plus, I've been more than a little sidetracked by InterNutter's Bulletin Board and sketching illustrations for various fics both therein and elsewhere. Anyway, I won't bore you with my hard luck story. Here is the sixth instalment for your entertainment. Read, review, and let me know what you think. Illustrations for this fic are still very, *very* welcome, especially as my birthday is coming up soon (hint hint ::cough cough:: presents for Scribbler). Advanced warning is such a wonderful thing. ;)  
  
*******************  
  
'Of Beast And Blade' By Scribbler  
Chapter Six ~ 'An Assassin's Soul'  
  
*******************  
  
'What the inner voice says will not disappoint the hoping soul.' -- Johann Friedrich Von Schiller  
  
*******************  
  
It is said that corruption is a state of mind. A mode that people fall into when tugged in the right direction. Circumstances, situations, surroundings, all serve to mould individuals into certain forms. Certain personalities.   
  
Yet in this way, the question might be asked, is it the circumstances that corrupt the person, or is it the person who corrupts their circumstances? All humans hold a seed of evil within their hearts. How else would they be able to recognise good in the world if they don't first have some experience of the bad. Contentment springs from iniquity, and happiness blossoms into the prettiest bloom when planted in the garden of transgression.  
  
Some places, however, are corrupt right from the moment of construction. It is in their very fabric. Their being. In the stones that hold them up, the light that illuminates their darkened rooms, the fires that warm their open spaces. Everything about them drips vice, and everything in them breathes wickedness. Such places are rare, but not unheard of. And where they do exist, they breed discontent, malice and violence the way that a dead body breeds maggots.  
  
Belvedere was one such place.  
  
The name was ironic. An old Österrikan word for freedom. If there was anything that didn't exist at Belvedere, it was freedom.   
  
You could feel it the moment you walked in through the wrought iron gates. It was a huge complex, made up of a great stone castle surrounded by enough walled-in space to comfortably hold several towns.   
  
Yet the people there - mostly soldiers - all seemed discontented. Probably because of the terrible conditions they were forced to live in. The only way they knew of the change in seasons at that far-removed place was the difference in ailments contracted from conditions in their barracks. Winter consisted of starvation and frostbite, whilst Summer was time for weeping sores and blisters from days long marches around their extensive compound.   
  
Some were voluntary soldiers, but the majority had been conscripted from defeated nations. The only reason a revolt hadn't occurred before now was the unimaginable control their master had over them. The paranormal removal of their free will.   
  
Yet this in itself was only part of their torment, for as well as losing their independence they were also all consigned to remain conscious, helpless spectators in their own bodies as their master decided what they should do with their lives. Most of these men awaited death with open arms, anticipating the release from the living hell of mortal form.  
  
Their eyes followed anyone who entered Belvedere, jealously noting the ease with which their master's 'guests' moved. Watching, and wanting their liberty with envious eyes.   
  
To all this, their 'master' was indifferent. He knew of their pain - how could he not? He was the one who knowingly inflicted it upon them with his magic - yet he didn't care. Some said he enjoyed it. A small amount of entertainment on his endless quest for power.  
  
At this moment, however, entertainment was the last thing on his mind.  
  
The Silver Sword sat on his throne, idly clicking long fingers on one arm, his other hand supporting his head in silent contemplation.   
  
It wasn't an attractive throne, as most rulers seem to favour. Rather, it had been crafted with the sole intent of seeming imposing, and giving anyone seated in it an air of supremacy and intimidation. With it's huge, black wrought iron back covered in intricately woven strands of steel, and protruding arms that ended in burnished copper fashioned into two snarling dragon faces, it certainly did its job. Not that the Silver Sword needed it to seem imposing.  
  
He was a tall man, whose stature instantly dwarfed anyone who stood near to him. Yet even if his physical form had been smaller, the aura that surrounded him would have been enough to daunt the most powerful of warriors. An intangible force encased the man. Some inexorable sense of refined savagery, buried beneath a want for power and control. As dictators before him, his quest for command over others seeped out of his skin, infecting the air around him with its caustic inexplicability and craving.   
  
Yet unlike those before him, the Silver Sword wanted more than just power over lands and peoples. He wanted complete and ultimate authority. The kind that can only be achieved by magic. The kind that, once tasted, turns into a hunger than cannot, and will never, be fulfilled, but which the one afflicted with it will move mountains to possess.   
  
Such was the lot of this once-apothecary's apprentice, who, in the shaded rooms of his employer's humble shop, first savoured the dregs of sorcery and found it to his liking. Consequently he wanted more. And more. And more. Until finally, the little shop could no longer support his voracious appetite, and he'd moved on to pastures new. Then again when he'd exhausted that resource, and again and again, until finally on his travels he happened upon an old ruin in Österrik.   
  
Using his wealth of accumulated magical knowledge, he rebuilt the construction until it was better than new, and embarked upon his current pursuit of power, and the ensuing specialized magical knowledge his numerous conquests brought with them. As a result of his conquests, he'd acquired the new name of 'Silver Sword'. An identity he found much to his liking.  
  
The room in which his throne stood was large and spacious, sparsely furnished with echoing ceilings onto which had been carved elaborate, if gory, depictions of ancient legends. Around the room were several suits of armour, each polished until they shone.   
  
Stretching from the feet of the dais on which the throne rested to the door at the far end was a long, red and gold carpet imported from the Far East. The entire set-up gave off an air of luxury and rulership.   
  
The effect was lost, however, on the Silver Sword. He sat, angrily tapping his fingers, brow knitting as he dwelt on some private thought. So absorbed was he that he didn't appear to hear the large doors creak open, or the small figure come scurrying in. In fact, it was only when the said figure knelt before him and tactfully cleared his throat that his eyes lost their glazed look and he finally noticed what was going on around him.  
  
He stared down at the man. Brown robes with a green belt. One of his scholars then. Irritably he wondered what the little pest could want.  
  
"Yes?" his voice boomed around the chamber, but the irked edge to it wasn't lost.  
  
The man nervously cleared his throat again. "My liege, please, forgive me, but I have news."  
  
"What news?" asked the seated man impatiently; "You know I don't like to be disturbed when I'm thinking."  
  
"I.... I'm aware of that, your majesty, but.... but I.... I thought.... You might wish to know what I and my contemporaries have discovered."  
  
The Silver sword sighed. ~Silly, stuttering fool. Might as well indulge him, I suppose. If I don't like his 'news' then I can always kill him. Plenty more where he came from.~  
  
"Speak your piece, Scholar...."  
  
"Scholar Kelly, milord."  
  
"Fine. Proceed." The taller man waved a careless hand at the quivering scholar to continue.  
  
Scholar Kelly gulped, sweat beading his brow. Why oh why had he been chosen to do this? He hadn't even been the one to make this damn discovery. Why was *he* the one who had to show his lordship their findings and risk his wrath? Why?  
  
"What seems to be the problem?" questioned the Silver Sword, a dangerous sharpness to his tone.  
  
"Nothing!" Kelly replied hastily. Still kneeling, but raising his head slightly, the flustered academic blurted; "My lordship knows of the Texts of Calorsiel?"  
  
The Texts of Calorsiel? The Silver Sword frowned. Yes, he knew of them. Those parchments and their accursed prophecy had plagued him for months. It seemed, from what his previous scholars had translated and deciphered from them, that they referred to his own rapid rise to ultimate power, but also his crushing defeat at the hands of some 'saviour'.   
  
Several scholars had been sacrificed to his wrath before he finally accepted the truth contained within that accursed prediction, and he'd been swift to set those remaining on the task of discovering who was to defeat him, that he might destroy them first and rid himself of any potential threat to his rule.  
  
"Of course I know of them. Do you think me a fool?"  
  
"No, no milord. Not at all," Scholar Kelly stumbled on his words, anxious not to offend the powerful ruler. "I... I only meant.... that our discovery concerns the prophecy. I.... I have here.... some papers you may find interesting...." he fumbled with the folds of his robe, trying to extract a rolled up scroll from a cloth purse attached to the green belt at his waist.  
  
At the mention of a 'discovery' the Silver Sword's attention pricked up. He sat straighter in his throne, gesturing for the weedy man to climb the steps of the platform and show him his find. Scholar Kelly did so, stumbling slightly, and still pulling the scroll free of its bindings upon reaching his master's side.  
  
"H.... here, Majesty." He thrust it reverently at the imposing figure, bending his head and avoiding those piercing eyes in a manner that befitted servitude.   
  
The Silver Sword ran his gaze over the parchment. It was a full translation of the Texts of Calorsiel written in modern Common. He'd read it a thousand times before, each time trying to figure out for himself what it meant, and each time failing and having to resort to scholars to explain its deeper meaning. Still, again he read it. And, yet again, it made little sense.  
  
"This is what you wanted to show me?" he demanded. "I've seen these accursed words more than I wish to already. If you are toying with me...." he left the threat hanging in mid-air.  
  
"No, no, Lordship," Kelly hurriedly replied, "It's just that.... well.... we've found that there were some....um....mistakes made in the original translation you were given."  
  
"Mistakes?" The Silver Sword peered closer at this new copy of the texts. "Explain yourself. And I warn you, be swift, or...."  
  
"Well.... you see, milord," Scholar Kelly indicated to a line of black scrawl, carefully and methodically printed so as not to smudge the parchment. "It.... it concerns this sentence here."  
  
"'Demons shall join the Jinrui, and salvation shall come from the heart of the Pehora,'" his master recited, "Yes? What about them?"  
  
"Well, it.... the texts clearly state that a saviour will come to.... to dethrone you. This sentence refers directly to this, but we didn't understand its true meaning until now."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Scholar Kelly licked his lips. "The words 'Jinrui' and 'Pehora'. Your scholars originally thought of these as ancient words used by Calorsiel that they had no translation for. *We* have found that this isn't the case at all. In actual fact, they belong to a language called Gehín."   
  
"The language of the Guild of Assassins."  
  
"Yes, milord. Gehín is in itself an ancient language. It.... its structure hasn't changed for millennia. The form used today is the same as the form used over a thousand years ago during the time of Calorsiel himself, so.... so if you translate these words into modern Common, you can properly understand what he meant."  
  
The Silver Sword's attention was now well and truly snagged. "And what *do* they mean?"  
  
"Well, Lordship, 'Jinrui' is Gehín for 'mankind', and 'Pehora' means 'three'."  
  
The larger man glanced back at the scroll in his hand and reread the sentence, adding in these alterations: "Demons shall join mankind, and salvation shall come from the heart of the three.' Ach, it still makes no sense."  
  
"Oh, but it does milord," Scholar Kelly amended, and then became flustered as his master shot him a hazardous look for daring to correct him. "Um.... what I mean is.... oh dear...."  
  
"Well? Speak up, man. What *does* it mean?"  
  
Scholar Kelly swallowed the sizable lump that had appeared in his throat. ~If I get out of here alive, then I'm going to kill the ones who sent me to do this!~ he vowed.  
  
"You see, Majesty, the fact that the prophecy contains words from such a secretive and elusive language would seem to indicate that this 'saviour' will originate from the Guild of Assassins itself."  
  
"And how does that help me? There are many assassins in the Guild. How am I to know which one will challenge me?" The Silver Sword snapped.  
  
"Um.... I.... the thing is.... oh dear.... Well, you see this phrase here, 'The unwilling turncoat,' it's not difficult to conceive that it refers to this 'saviour' as well. If that is indeed the case, then.... um.... you're privy to the politics of the Guild more than I since they joined with you, milord. Have there been any.... um.... outcasts lately?"  
  
The Silver Sword said nothing for a moment. Then: "Yes. But surely you know of it too. Haven't you heard of The Rogue of The Guild of Assassins?"  
  
"N... no, Lordship. In our chambers, we scholars.... we hear little of the outside world," Scholar Kelly gulped. "Not that I'm complaining of course, oh no, I wouldn't do something as audacious as that...."  
  
"Cease your babbling, fool!" He was silenced at these abrupt words. "Yes there has been an out-casting made by the Guild recently. What significance does this play in the prophecy?"  
  
"It's probable that this 'Rogue' of which you speak is to be champion who will vanquish you. Or try to, anyway, milord," Scholar Kelly gabbled.  
  
There was silence for a moment. Strained, tense silence. Scholar Kelly risked a glance at his master, and saw that the older man was staring quiescently into space, a thoughtful expression playing about his face. Then, quite suddenly, a smile curved his thin lips into a malicious grin.  
  
"Well, well. The plot thickens," he chuckled. It was not a nice sound, and Scholar Kelly shivered despite himself.   
  
"There.... there is more, milord."  
  
The Silver Sword's head whipped around: "What?"  
  
"Um.... there was another mistake in the translation. In the passage where Calorsiel.... you see.... here...." he pointed to another section of text, and once again the Silver Sword read it aloud.  
  
"'It is she who will begin all and begin new.' Yes, that would seem to refer to The Rogue as my would-be vanquisher."  
  
"But it doesn't, my Lordship."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"That's the inaccuracy. It doesn't refer to a 'she' coming to defeat you. That's the mistake the original translators made. The ancient word for 'she' is incredibly similar to the ancient word for 'they'. In light of the true meaning of 'Pehora' it would seem that there are three champions who will attempt to overthrow you. One of them will be from the Guild of Assassins, and the other two will be travelling with her."  
  
"So, am I to understand that instead of one enemy to destroy, I am to deal with *three*?" The Silver Sword clarified.  
  
"Y.... yes, milord. That's right. Three."  
  
The Silver Sword laughed. Scholar Kelly blinked at the unearthly sound. It was well known that his master had altered himself through use of magic to become more powerful, but the noise that now escaped his mouth made it seem like he had been possessed by an evil spirit, who now unleashed the tortures screams of all Seven Hells through his mortal mouth. It was terrifying, and caused his blood to run cold with incomprehensible fear.  
  
"But that's *wonderful* news," his master grinned.  
  
"Wonderful milord?"  
  
"Yes. Don't you see? They're all together, and I can destroy them at once rather than picking them off one by one. They're actually making my job easier for me. In fact, I don't even have to destroy all of them. If one of them dies then the prophecy can never be fulfilled."  
  
"But.... but I don't understand, Majesty. They could be anywhere in the realms - "  
  
"No. I know exactly where The Rogue is going. She's coming here. To Belvedere."  
  
Scholar Kelly was confused, and it showed in his face: "To Belvedere, milord? Why would she do that?"  
  
"Because I have something she wants," he laughed again. Scholar Kelly's blood turned to ice in his heart. "Do you know what's even more amusing?"  
  
"N.... no, milord."  
  
"The Guild have already sent their finest assassins after her to execute her under Guild law. And do you know whom they've sent? None other than Emilios the Savage."  
  
"Emilios the Savage?" Scholar Kelly remembered Emilios. The hate-filled little man who'd come to Belvedere a few months ago. He'd been the first to test out the scientists' new 'enhancement machines' in return for a favour he'd done the Silver Sword himself, and had left a changed man - literally.   
  
He shuddered. No person could ever hope to survive if Emilios was on his or her trail. No-one! "Then she is lost already. Her companions too."  
  
"Not necessarily. I have.... inside knowledge that The Rogue is a very resourceful girl. I don't doubt that she's evaded her captors, and is probably not too far away from here, either." The Silver Sword tapped his chin. "No, I can see that *I* will have to deal with these three 'champions' myself. And I know just how to do it, too. Stand aside, man." He rose to his feet, full imposing height becoming apparent. Scholar Kelly trembled, skipping sideways as his master blew past and shoved the scroll back into his hands.  
  
"Milord?"  
  
"Return to your chambers, scholar. I have no more need of you at present. Be off, before I grow tired of you and have your head served on a platter for entertainment."  
  
Scholar Kelly's eyes goggled at this callous statement, and he scuttled down from the dais and out through a little-used side exit into the servants' passageways.   
  
Once safely out of the throne room, he closed the door and leaned backwards on it, letting a relieved sigh escape his dry lips. He'd made it. He'd survived an audience with the Silver Sword. He smiled, a small, triumphant smile.  
  
"Hey, Kelly. Whatcha lookin' so darn happy 'bout?"  
  
The voice dragged him out of him mental reprieve, and he pulled back tired lids to see a young girl dressed in the same robes as himself and carrying a mound of bulky scrolls under both arms. She cocked her head at him, greasy brown hair covering half of her face and a curious twinkle in her one visible eye.  
  
"That's *Scholar* Kelly to you, and I'll have you know that I've just had an audience with the Silver Sword himself, thank you very much," he raised his nose snootily at her, trepidation rapidly disintegrating without his master there to reinforce it.  
  
"Didja wet yerself in fear?" she asked playfully. Kelly looked aghast at such a suggestion.  
  
"No I did not! How dare you imply - "   
  
She darted away, giggling. "Hey, keep yer hair on, Kelly. I wuz only kiddin' ya. Come on, I gotta get back to the chambers with these 'ere scrolls, an' I'll bet that's where your headed too."  
  
"I might be," Scholar Kelly sniffed, "But I wouldn't want to travel with someone...." However, his words tailed off, for the young girl was already gone.   
  
Sighing, Kelly stuffed his own scroll back into its cloth holder and made his way back to the dank, dismal rooms that served as his home and workplace combined. He muttered as he went, words lost in the shadows. Eaten up by the murk surrounding him.  
  
"Wet myself indeed. In my day, we had a little more respect for our elders. How dare she imply that I, Scholar Kelly, would sink so low as to soil myself in front of His Majesty. It's unthinkable... absolutely unthinkable."  
  
*******************  
  
The Silver Sword had no such qualms about travelling companions. Nobody was impudent enough to travel with him unless invited, and he strode through the winding main corridors of Belvedere without so much as a passing glance at those he came across along the way. Most of them darted into rooms and doorways as he went by. To get in the way of the Silver Sword was to sign one's own death warrant.   
  
The majority were all slaves, at any rate, with enchantments over them that caused their feet to move aside of their own accord at his approach. They cowered in anterooms, waiting for him to pass so that they might once again reclaim their limbs as their own.   
  
To all this he was blind. He had his own destination and criteria in mind, and nothing deterred him from something when he'd set his mind to it. That was how he'd become so powerful. He never left his enemies standing. When it seemed they were defeated, he always dealt the final finishing blow. Mercy was a word that didn't grace his vocabulary. An unknown concept.  
  
At last he reached his goal. A small, rarely used wooden door leading to what had once been the cellars. They'd long since been moved to another level of the castle, leaving this space to be utilized as he saw fit. He slid open the wooden bar and strode confidently down the stone steps beyond.   
  
About half way down the pitch black shadows framing the stairway suddenly invaded it, rendering him blind. Without so much as batting an eyelid, the daunting man raised one hand and muttered a string of alien-sounding words. Instantly his palm flared into life, as a glowing ball of light detached itself from his pale skin to float in the air. It sped ahead of him, twittering madly and guiding his way with its ethereal illumination. He followed, face impassive.  
  
In the very bowels of the castle he found what he sought. The cellars had been extensive, and taken up a lot of room below the surface of Belvedere. Now they were filled with something else. Strange shimmery cuboids lined the walls and spread across the damp floor, each as tall as four fully-grown men and glowing with a faint blue luminescence. They lit the chamber with their ghostly light, but not enough to merit the absence of the twittering Floatlight.  
  
As he descended the steps, a figure detached itself from the gloom and headed towards him.  
  
"Halt! Who goes there?"  
  
"It's me, Gerris," he replied.   
  
The Floatlight flew forwards and shone its light on the figure's face. A young man of about twenty winters stood there, brown hair mussed and forming troughs and peaks haphazardly across his skull, and a few days worth of stubble on his jaw. He peered into the gloom, hazel eyes widening in surprise at his visitor.  
  
"Oh, it's you, your Lordship. What brings you to the Menagerie?"  
  
"I have a job in mind, Gerris, and I know you have just the creature to carry it out for me."  
  
Gerris grinned: "I'll bet I do, sir. Just tell me which one you want and I'll prepare it for you."  
  
The Silver Sword stepped forward, brushing past the youth and leaving him to follow behind.   
  
If the Silver Sword had one failing, it was his penchant for exotic beasts. Hence, he'd converted the old cellars into a huge menagerie for mythical and unusual creatures usually consigned solely to fairy tales, legends and distant continents. He'd taken great pains to seek these elusive creatures out, hunting and capturing them and bringing them here that he might gaze upon them and admire them at his leisure. It seemed that his want for control did not limit itself to humanoid activities.  
  
Gerris was the keeper of these beasts, and knew more about them than any scholar or archivist who catalogued their exploits as written in ancient texts. Despite his relatively young age, he was an experienced man, and you would be hard pushed to find anyone in all the realms more capable of handling an animal crisis.   
  
The magical spells woven by the Silver Sword and used as enclosures negated the creatures' magical attacks and kept them from harming anybody who chose to view them, but Gerris still knew all about the individual abilities of each of his charges. He knew the extent of their capabilities, the signs that signalled when they were about to attack, what food they preferred, which were best to be kept together, almost everything there was to know. In fact, it was said that if Gerris didn't know something about a beast, then it just wasn't worth knowing.  
  
The two men made their way across the interlocking chambers in the semi-dark, the Floatlight guiding their way and punctuating the silence that stretched between them with its incessant chirping.   
  
They passed many glowing cube enclosures as they went. A griffon paced angrily from side to side in one, growling softly to itself and raking its formidable claws across the ground in bored fury. In the next a trio of satyrs sat dolefully, scuffing the dusty floor with their hooves and bleating their displeasure at being cooped up. Further along a huge Hippogriff raised itself on its hind legs at the sight of the man who'd imprisoned it, its deafening roars muffled by the magical cerulean barrier separating them. A little further on another enclosure seemed to be completely filled with water, and a soulful mermaid floated flaccidly in its clear depths, drifting golden hair her only movement.  
  
Yet none of these interested the Silver Sword. He knew exactly which animal he wanted, and made a beeline for an isolated cube in the far corner. Gerris struggled to keep up with the pace set by his considerably longer legs, and when he reached the enclosure his master was already staring intently into it.   
  
It contained the beast he was most proud of; one of his first captures many years ago, and he'd carted it around with him when he moved on from places - before he found Belvedere - unwilling to release it as he'd been forced to do with other creatures when he changed location. This beast, however, was just too rare to be cast aside like some common troll or sprite. This beast was the pièce de résistance of his collection. He peered almost lovingly at it.  
  
Two bright green eyes glared at him out of the gloom enshrouding its magical cage. Although it was encased in thick, near impregnable shadow, a shift in the creature's muscles signalled where it lay, legs coiled beneath its massive body in a false stance of relaxation. An air of hidden savagery, like the veiled poise of a tiger waiting to strike, was lavished upon this beast. It's blue-black hide merged with the darkness, but its emerald eyes blazed liquid hatred at the man who had dared to remove its liberty. Almost feline jaws parted in a silent snarl, and rows of wickedly jagged teeth glittered truculently in the Floatlight's reflected gleam.   
  
The little glowing ball uttered a soft squeak and darted behind Gerris, plunging the enclosure into opaque darkness once more.  
  
A short laugh exited the Silver sword's mouth.  
  
"How soon can you ready him?" he asked.  
  
Gerris looked hard at his lord and master. "Are you sure, sir? He's not exactly the most reliable. Wouldn't you prefer a more dependable creature? A nice Hippogriff perhaps - "  
  
"I want *this* one," the taller man didn't break his gaze away from his prize, but his voice dropped to a low whisper; "Do I make myself clear?"  
  
"Crystal, sir. I'll get the portal ready to send him out, any particular target?"  
  
"I'll input the target myself when I say the incantation to activate the portal," he replied. "Just do your job and ready him, Gerris."  
  
"As you command, milord." The keeper made to go, but was stopped in his tracks as the silky voice slithered after him.  
  
"Oh, and Gerris. Don't ever question me again. You're not indispensable, you know."  
  
Gerris gulped; "Yes, sir," and hurried away as fast as he could without alerting the capricious lord's attention.   
  
Yet he need not have worried. The Silver Sword was utterly captivated by the contents of the dark enclosure. He gawped at it like it was the only thing in the universe, and all other things were worthless and extraneous compared to it.   
  
For its part, the mysterious creature only growled and bared its fangs at him. It did not share his love, and returned it only with naked hatred. Years of living this life of incarceration in a cage that disallowed it to live its life to the fullest had allowed its odium to grow exponentially, and had anyone been foolish enough to venture into its pen - be it Silver Sword or no - it would have gladly vented its loathing and ripped them to shreds in an instant. And it was this very naked hate that the Silver Sword was counting on.  
  
He stroked the shimmery wall, cooing to it like a baby in a deceptively gentle tone that few ever heard from him without losing their lives shortly afterwards.  
  
"Soon, my precious. Soon you shall have blood. And then we will both be happy. They won't know what's hit them. Soon, kitten. Yes, soon."  
  
*******************  
  
"But I'm *tired*!"  
  
Rogue stalked on ahead, doing her best to ignore Kitty's incessant whining. Kurt hung back, trotting alongside the exhausted Changeling.  
  
"Come on, Kätzchen. It can't be that bad," he soothed.  
  
"'Bad'? It's worse than 'bad'. My feet are killing me, I have blisters on my blisters, my joints are stiff and my stomach hasn't quit growling for, like, hours!" Kitty moaned. "Like, when are we gonna stop, already?"  
  
It had been three days since they escaped from Zanninsa, and the trio of unusual companions had rested little since their night in the Elevada tree. Rogue was still very much in command, and short snatches of sleep were all she allowed, and only when absolutely necessary and suitable cover was available.   
  
Kitty, however, with her usual verbosity was the most outspoken against this lack of relaxation time, and often let them know in not so many words. Now was one such occasion.  
  
"Hello? Are you, like, even listening to me?" she called. Rogue gritted her teeth.  
  
"Shhh, Kätzchen," Kurt held one thick finger to his lips; "She's just as tired as we are. Don't rile her, please."  
  
"If she's so, like, tired then why haven't we, like, stopped yet, huh?" Kitty retorted. "And besides, I'm hungry too. When are we gonna eat? Or is that like, not necessary either?"  
  
"Now Kätzchen...." Kurt attempted to mollify her again.  
  
"Don't you 'now Kätzchen' me, Kurt," the brown haired girl snapped. "I've just about had it up to here with all this walking, and marching, and more walking, and more marching - "  
  
"Will you just *shut* *up*!" Rogue whirled round, her face a mask of anger beneath the deep folds of her hood. "When will you get it through your thick skull that when I say keep going I say it for a *reason*? 'I'm tired' 'mah tootsies hurt' 'mah belly aches', complain, complain, complain, that's all you ever do! I oughta cut out your tongue to make you silent!"  
  
"Rogue," Kurt focused his golden eyes on her.  
  
"What? You're her friend. Tell her to quit yapping and keep walking."  
  
"Rogue."  
  
"All day and all night. It's never ending with her. Yap, yap, yap."  
  
"Rogue."  
  
"She sounds like a magpie in a treasury. Twittering nineteen to the dozen. Yackety, yackety, yackety, yak - "  
  
"*Rogue*!"  
  
She ceased her avalanche of remonstrations and insults long enough to bark; "*What*?"  
  
"Kitty has a point. We *have* been walking for days without a rest, and it *has* been quite some time since we've eaten. Far be it for me to tell you what to do, but we need to halt for more than a few minutes soon or we'll just be putting days on our journey when one of us falls ill from exhaustion." He gazed at her, asking her to relent and see his line of reasoning.  
  
Rogue did, albeit grudgingly. The compassion she'd showed when talking with him had been temporary, and no sooner had their feet touched the ground then she'd resumed her savage aloofness. The ice-queen persona had fallen easily into place, and she became The Rogue again. Cold. Unfathomable. Unsociable.  
  
"Oh, all right. If it'll shut you two up. But only if we find some protection first." She turned to continue on through the seemingly endless forest. "And I'm warning y'all. One more word and I'll gut you and leave you here for the wolves to deal with. Do I make mahself clear?"  
  
"Tadellos. Come along, Kätzchen." Kurt started after her and gestured that Kitty should follow, which she did; grumbling profusely under her breath, but uttering nothing aloud lest Rogue make good on her threat. No matter what covert thoughtfulness she'd shown Kurt, there was no doubt in Kitty's mind that the ex-assassin didn't like her, and only tolerated her continued presence because of him.  
  
They travelled on through the undergrowth, which had become surprisingly thick of late. Fronds of bracken and unidentifiable creepers snaked into their path, creating a veritable barrier of greenery so substantial that Kurt found it impossible to remain on all fours and reverted to walking like a two-legger, tail lashing this way and that as it caught on twigs and plants alike.   
  
At last, he decided against staying on the ground and scuttled trunk of a nearby tree, a cerulean bullet shooting adeptly up its vertical surface, finding grips and footholds where there were none, and leaping nimbly through the branches overhead of his compatriots.  
  
Rogue and Kitty both watched him, flying gracefully through the air, completely in his element. On the ground Kurt seemed gawky and inelegant, but up there, where leaves criss-crossed and boughs reached high up into the very sky itself, he was the most graceful thing imaginable. Daintier than any squirrel, and more fluid in his movements than a stalking cat.   
  
Kitty smiled. A happy smile, as vicariously she soared with him. She was still afraid of heights, but when she saw the furry boy that way, all her fears seemed petty in the face of his patent glee. He seemed so much happier now, as compared to when they first left the city. Much as she hated to admit it, Rogue's little chat had done the trick, and though Kurt wasn't entirely over his mother's abrupt death he was certainly much more at peace with himself.  
  
Rogue observed him with a sort of detached fondness. That is, until she perceived the emotion and hastily buried beneath contempt for his blatant disregard of surreptitiousness.   
  
~Stupid elf!~ she thought, ~Making so much noise. Don't think about that, does he? Too busy enjoying himself to think about such mundane things as safety!~ Yet in spite of her mental complaints, somehow she couldn't bring herself to call him down from his lofty highway. ~You're getting soft, mah girl. You ain't gonna survive five minutes this way. No siree.~  
  
After a time they gradually became aware of a strange sound upon the air. A shushing noise, coupled with faint croaks and murmurings like muted birdcalls. It rode the late-afternoon breeze to their ears, swirling inside and then rushing away again, giggling.   
  
Kurt - who was some way ahead of the girls - bounded down to one of the lower branches and crouched on his belly, awaiting their arrival.  
  
"Hören Sie! Können Sie das hören? Can you hear that?" he asked when they reached him.  
  
Kitty cocked her head to one side. "Yeah. Like, what is that?"  
  
Rogue said nothing.  
  
"Hey, Frauline. Do you know what that strange noise is?" Kurt dangled one hand lazily off his perch as she passed beneath him. The older girl snorted.  
  
"Of course I do. That's the Danub."  
  
"Like, the what?"  
  
Rogue sighed, barely concealed irritation in her voice: "The Danub. Only the biggest river this side of anywhere. Y'all have got to have heard of it."  
  
"I've heard of it, Frauline." Agilely, Kurt shinned further up a tree he was climbing once more, yelling down to them. "I just didn't realise we'd travelled so far already."  
  
"We're making good time," she replied. "Seems my policy of not stopping is working." This last comment was directed over her shoulder at Kitty, who fumed noiselessly, glaring at her cloaked back.  
  
They continued in silence for a few minutes, the sound of the river growing steadily around them. Kitty struggled to keep up with her companions, hitching up her skirts and pushing violently through the scrub. She received several cuts and scratches for her trouble, but eventually caught up with Rogue when the other girl abruptly stopped.   
  
Kurt dropped to the branch just above her head, and together the pair of them stared out across something that as yet evaded the Changeling's line of sight.  
  
"Like, what's up?" Kitty asked breathlessly. Neither said a word, but Kurt glanced down at her. Soundlessly he raised one furry arm and pointed away from them. Kitty hurried over, drawing level with Rogue and gasped at what she saw.  
  
The mightiest river ever imaginable stretched before them, wide and brimming with crystalline waters of the purest blue, tinted here and there with verdant green. It shimmered in the sunlight, glinting as a diamond might do when placed under intense light. It was at least sixty feet across, and the far shore seemed distant and remote. Truly an awe-inspiring sight to someone whose previous experience of rivers was just a muddy trickle that barely passed as a brook.  
  
Kitty was flabbergasted. Her mouth opened and closed in the manner of a beached fish, and for a few minutes she simply stared, all minor injuries and discomforts forgotten in the face of such natural grandeur and magnificence.   
  
At last, she managed to choke out a single utterance, and it rasped from her throat, summarizing what each of them felt yet none of them could put into words: "Like, wow!"   
  
Her voice jolted Rogue from her musings. The ex-assassin had seen the river before, several times in fact, but it still evoked in her a sense of wonder, of unimportance in nature's great plan for the world. Still, her conjecture was abruptly shattered by the younger female's inarticulate murmur.  
  
"Welcome to the Danub," she said, before striding down the embankment towards the river's edge.   
  
Kurt leapt to the ground after her, having no trees to travel through at the water's edge. He paused long enough for Kitty to stop staring and join him, and together they trailed after the imposing figure.  
  
Rogue halted at the grassy rim. Her cloak billowed around her like it was alive, twisting and turning on the breeze in a swarthy display of acrobatics. She frowned out of her cowl at the water.  
  
"It's too deep to cross here," she surmised after a while. "The current's moving too fast. We'd be swept away before you could say 'Plechtoh and Kirkus.'"  
  
"What should we do then?" asked Kurt innocently.  
  
"Follow its course until we find a safer spot," Rogue answered. "If I remember rightly then there's a shallow part not too far from here. It's still quite wide, but not too fast or deep there. Should be a bit easier to swim."  
  
"Excuse me?" Kitty repeated, horror-struck. "Did you just say swim? I can't even, like doggy-paddle! I'll drown in something that big!"  
  
"One can only hope," Rogue retorted, spinning on her heel and walking away from them. Her cloak fluttered behind her, catching Kitty in her face and making her stumble backwards into Kurt. Deftly he steadied her before she could fall into the mud, but she glared resentfully at the retreating girl's discourteous form.  
  
Kurt looked at her, a wry grin twisting his lips. ~If looks could kill,~ he thought to himself. ~Then Rogue and Kätzchen would have murdered and buried each other long before now, and that's a fact.~  
  
They carried on for quite a long way beside the great river. As Rogue had promised, progressively it did become somewhat shallower, and the noise of rushing water became quieter as the current pulling beneath its deceivingly smooth surface became weaker.  
  
At last they happened upon a small copse closer to the bank than the rest of the forest. The section of river at this point was wide yet quite still, and almost completely quiescent. It was here that Rogue terminated her brisk pace.  
  
"We'll stay here tonight," she stated in a tone that disallowed argument. Glancing at the rapidly colouring sky, she added. "If y'all wanna refresh yourselves with the water then you'd best hurry up. We'll be bedding down soon in those trees, and I don't want nobody fidgeting around and climbing about whilst I'm trying to get some shuteye. You hear me?"  
  
"Yes ma'am!" Kurt saluted cheekily, darting down to riverbank to quench his thirst from the cool, clear liquid.   
  
Rogue glared after him, but there was something strange about her eyes. Kitty, slower to react than the hypersensitive elf and thus still near her, saw it. A kind of strained softness, mixed with a resentment that fought potently against its presence there. These two emotions clashed and wrestled silently behind those emerald orbs, waging a war that the Changeling couldn't hope to comprehend, and she almost gasped to see such a mental struggle in the habitually unambiguous and ruthless teen.  
  
Rogue's gaze slid over to her, and instantly all traces of the struggle vanished. "You waiting for something?" she drawled.  
  
"N.... no," said Kitty, more than a little flustered.   
  
"Then why don't you get?" was the callous reply, thrown flippantly into the air, yet swathed in a pitch that made it unmistakable as an order.  
  
Kitty did as she was bid, scurrying dutifully down to the riverbank where Kurt was already crouched, cupping water into his mouth.   
  
Rogue watched them for a second, then turned and strolled up the slight slope towards the copse where she slumped down beside the trunk of an aging Oak, pulling down her hood and resting the back of her skull against its bark.  
  
She sat there for a moment, looking at nothing in particular and thinking about even less. Flies buzzed around her head, but she didn't brush them away. What was the point? They'd only come back.   
  
A sudden notion popped into her head unannounced, and she reached down into her boot and carefully removed Logan's hunting knife. She held it for a moment, gazing at it and tilting it this way and that so that it caught the sun. Idly, she ran a finger down its keen edge, honed to perfection by years of prolific attention. Abruptly she winced, pulling her hand away and staring as a thin line of red appeared on her fingertip. A small globule of blood welled from it and dripped off her flesh into the sparse, spindly grass. It disappeared without trace into the fronds, and she bunched her fist to stop another from falling.   
  
A faint sardonic smile curved her mouth, and she pulled a section of her cloak up and began vigorously cleaning the blade and snarling metal wolverine's head. When she was done she held it up to the dying light again, and it sparkled and glinted like burnished gold. A beautiful, if deadly, spectacle. Replacing it in her boot, she unsheathed her dagger, and then her sword, polishing them until they shone too.  
  
"That's pretty."  
  
Rogue looked up sharply to see the shrimp standing warily a few feet down the slope. A curl of her lip dismissed the girl as not worth her time, and she went back to cleaning her sword.   
  
Undeterred, Kitty cleared her throat and spoke again. "You've cleaned that up real nice."  
  
"What's the matter? Elf abandoned you?"  
  
Kitty looked down, embarrassed. "Nuh-uh. He's just washing in the water. I didn't like to stay because he's, like.... um...." she trailed off.  
  
Rogue looked up again. "He's naked in the river, and the prissy little Changeling was too embarrassed to stay," she deduced. Kitty's cheeks reddened.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Rogue looked down again, thrusting the fabric of her cloak into the crevice around the ruby embedded in the pommel of her weapon. Dirt had a habit of getting in there. She was still finding dried chimera blood mixed with the everyday dust.   
  
Her face set into an expression of concentration as she skilfully hooked her finger into it and flicked out flakes of black onto the grass. When she was done she blinked, and had the oddest feeling that she was being watched.   
  
Snapping her head up again she perceived that the shrimp was still standing there, looking intently at her. No, not at her, but at the sword in her hands. The younger girl wore a look of curiosity and vague wonderment on her visage as her gaze traced the shape of the blade, taking in its lethal sheen and murderous sharpness with almost hungry blue eyes. So absorbed was she with what she saw that she didn't realise that the watcher had become the watched. That is, until Rogue cleared her throat loudly and twitched the blade to gain her attention.   
  
Kitty blinked and took a step backwards, taking this as a sign that she wasn't wanted and should leave. However, instead of rebuking, Rogue asked: "You ever handled a blade before?"  
  
Kitty verbally stumbled, unused to being talked to unless she was being insulted. "N.... no, never."   
  
"Wanna try it?"  
  
The offer hung between them, bulbous and full of both promise and retribution. For several seconds neither said a word, both as surprised as the other at the unexpected proposal.   
  
Then Kitty scuffed her foot and mumbled: "Wouldn't mind."  
  
Rogue patted the grass beside her, gesturing that she should sit down. Kitty did, albeit guardedly. Rogue held out the sword, handle first. Gingerly she took it, marvelling at how heavy yet manoeuvrable it was. The metal seemed to be riddled with thousands of tiny air-holes like the bones of a bird. Her eyes grew round. You could almost feel the potential power coursing through the metal. Raw, leaping energy just waiting for someone to take it up and release it in battle.  
  
"You like?" asked Rogue.  
  
"Oh yes," replied Kitty, not taking her eyes off the glittering keenness. "It's like.... I can't describe what it feels like. It's as if the metal were, like, alive in my hand, and if I move then it'll be the sword that's, like, in control and not me."  
  
Rogue almost smiled. That was exactly how she'd felt when first given a sword. She remembered how her blood had been sent buzzing within her veins the moment Logan placed the hilt into her waiting hands. It was like nothing on earth. Indescribable.   
  
The feeling had faded over time, after hours of practise and many missions where the beautiful metal became stained. But it was still there. Each time her hand closed about the handle to her own personal blade her veins sang softly of the power flowing through them. Not the power over life and death that the sword brought with it, but the power of control. Of holding your own fate in your own hands and being master of your own destiny.  
  
"To an assassin, the sword is a way of life," she explained softly. "It's not just a tool, but a living extension of oneself."   
  
"Yes," Kitty breathed. "I can believe it." She straightened the blade so that it stood vertical, almost touching her nose. Rogue reached across, and she started, allowing it to fall forwards and bury its tip in the ground.  
  
"I was only gonna say, your grip needs a little work," Rogue snapped.  
  
"I'm sorry." Kitty looked away and made to give the sword back, but Rogue held up her hands and pushed it away again, back into her hands.  
  
"Don't be sorry, just do what I say. Move your hands this way a bit and tighten your grasp just beneath the hilt. That gives you greater freedom of movement, see?"  
  
Kitty shifted her hands, placing one in front of the other and tensing her fingers beneath the jutting metal of the hilt. She nodded, raising it to a vertical position again.  
  
"Yeah, I can, like, totally see what you mean. That's much better." She lowered it again, awe fading from her face a smidgen. "Listen, Rogue. I'm, like.... that is to say.... um.... I'm sorry."  
  
Rogue was taken aback. "Sorry?" she reiterated. "What for?"  
  
"For being, like, a pain in the butt. I know I'm always complaining about stuff and getting on your nerves, but sometimes I just, like, can't help myself."  
  
"Yeah, I'd noticed."  
  
Kitty's cheeks changed colour again. "Yeah, well, I'm sorry. I.... um.... I'm sorry," she finished, unable to properly say what she wanted.  
  
Rogue stared at her. The shrimp, *apologising*? There was no doubt in Rogue's mind that this single Changeling girl was one of the most obnoxious, annoying and completely impossible people she'd ever met. The idea of her actually acting contritely was so unthinkable as to be almost ridiculous.   
  
Her green eyes narrowed suspiciously. Was this some sort of trick to throw her off her guard? If so, then she was going to be *really* sorry later. Nobody fools The Rogue and lives to tell the tale.  
  
Oh lighten up! Admonished her almost-conscience. How could she double cross you? She's wanted as your accomplice now, where would she go if you were gone? The kid's on the level. Stop being so mistrustful for once and take her word for it.  
  
~You remember what happened last time I trusted someone,~ she mentally reminded it.  
  
And that's exactly why you're going to Belvedere, it replied. But that's not the shrimp's fault.   
  
~I don't wanna be abandoned again.~   
  
Psychologically, she jolted. It had slipped out so easily, yet she'd been ignoring it for so long. Abandonment. Being deserted. Something that had stalked her mind since before she became an outcast, back when *he* was still with her. Before he left to find out. To know. To seek the answers she couldn't help him to find.  
  
He'd left her all alone, and she'd set up the walls to keep everybody out. To stop the pain from happening again. Until this very moment she hadn't even acknowledged why she'd done it, but now it preyed upon her brain, driving itself into the crannies of her thoughts until she could ignore it no longer.  
  
Her almost conscience spoke softly inside her head. Listen, it said, the elf and the shrimp have followed you even though you've been absolutely foul to them. The elf genuinely seems to like you, and now the shrimp - who blatantly doesn't - is apologising for being a pain. Not many people are big enough to do that, so you'd better just accept what she's doing as true and try to accept that sometimes people aren't going to betray you like he did.  
  
~I don't wanna risk being left again,~ she whimpered in a manner that would have astounded any who could have heard it. ~Not after last time.~  
  
And you won't be. Just trust, OK? Just trust.  
  
~Trust? Trust is worthless. Trust gets you killed.~  
  
No, it replied, trust only kills loneliness. But if you don't trust, then the loneliness will only kill you.  
  
Kitty was beginning to think she'd said the wrong thing until Rogue abruptly stirred and muttered a quick; "S'alright."  
  
The Changeling sighed in relief as her apology was tersely accepted. She hadn't anticipated Rogue saying much, so this offhand receipt was gratefully received. She'd half been expecting yet more rejection from the brusque girl, but something about the conflicting way she'd looked at Kurt earlier had made her take a chance and offer this sort-of treaty between them. A little flame of gladness lit up inside Kitty's chest at the lack of what she'd experienced most of her life. Acceptance.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"What are you two ladies talking about?" a familiar accented voice piped up.   
  
Both Kitty and Rogue turned to see Kurt approaching them. His fur was slick and wet, and his threadbare clothes hung damply from his body with small dank patches appearing here and there. A contented grin split his furry face, showing sharp white teeth that glinted in the rapidly diminishing sunlight.   
  
Kurt was, by nature, a very clean person. Years of living in a forest had caused him to develop some rather - for want of a better word - feline cleaning-techniques in the absence of water. Their journey thus far hadn't allowed him much time to wash, and so he'd reverted to this form of cleansing for the most part, but somehow it had never satisfied him. As good as his saliva was, it didn't compare to washing with real water, and he'd taken the first opportunity presented to him to have a good, thorough wash in the bracing waters of the Danub.   
  
Now, clean and refreshed, he'd sought out his companions, and - to his surprise - found them sitting quietly together, sharing the shade of a rather ancient Oak tree. Their miens spoke of an uncharacteristic amity that astounded Kurt, and he waltzed up to them, half expecting their customary vocal fireworks and violence to break out at any moment.  
  
Yet it didn't. Instead, the female duo simply watched him draw closer with a mutual interest that both surprised and pleased him. What was even more unexpected was the fact that Kitty was holding Rogue's sword easily in her hands, and the ex-assassin was making no move to take it back or stab her with it (for which, he was glad.)  
  
He grinned at them, and when they didn't answer his question, added: "Are you talking about me? Ach, I hope what you say is nice."  
  
"Like, no way, Kurt," Kitty replied for them both. "We weren't, like, talking about you. We were just talking about.... stuff."   
  
He reached them and hunkered down next to the younger girl. "Stuff, eh? What sort of stuff?"  
  
"Just.... stuff," she answered lamely.   
  
He rolled his golden eyes. "Well that was enlightening."  
  
"Shut it, fuzzy," Rogue snapped, but her tone was less than threatening. More jaded.  
  
"Rogue was just, like, letting me hold her sword," Kitty elucidated.  
  
"I can see that. Hey, don't wave that thing around, Kätzchen. You could take my ear off with it." He clamped his hands over his pointed ears to demonstrate his point.  
  
Now it was Rogue's turn to roll her green eyes. "That 'thing' as you put it could do a lot more than take your ear off if it wanted to, elf."  
  
"Excuse me? If *it* wanted to?" He tilted his head on its side, face puzzled. "Don't you mean if *Kitty* wanted to?"  
  
"No, I meant exactly what I said," she retorted, leaving him even more perplexed at her cryptic response. He blinked, confusion registering clearly in his furry features.  
  
It was up to Kitty to try and explain what the obscure girl was getting at. Even so, she struggled slightly to put into words just what holding a sword and having your blood sing felt like. She tried numerous ways, but somehow to speak of the sensation aloud seemed like sacrilege, and her descriptions only came out as glorified savagery rather than the magnificent feeling that it really was.  
  
"You see, Kurt, when you hold a sword, it's like.... well, it's as if your arm's on fire.... I mean.... um.... your blood, it.... well, it kinda tingles when you touch.... what I'm trying to, like, say is.... it's sort of like pins and needles, but it doesn't stop at your arm, it carries on.... It's like it goes right through you.... do you, like, get what I mean?"  
  
Kurt shook his head; "Nein, I don't, Kätzchen."   
  
"Well, um.... perhaps if you touched it, then you'd, like, understand."  
  
"No," he straightened up, stretching his cramped muscles. "I'm sorry, Kätzchen, but I don't want to hold *any* weapons. It's not that I don't agree with them, it's just that I don't think I could bring myself to touch something anymore that was designed with the sole purpose of killing in mind. Not after what happened to.... to my mother."  
  
"Oh." She couldn't think of anything else to say to a comment like that. How could she explain this strange but incredible feeling to someone who considered merely touching a sword beyond his capacity.   
  
She wondered at her own feelings towards the blade. She'd never shown any inclination towards them before, but somehow the sight of Rogue's shining, lovingly kept sword had evoked in her a sense of stupefaction at the craftsmanship, which she'd never experienced for anything before. It had enchanted her with its savage beauty. Caught her up in its spell of glittering metal.   
  
Rogue watched this exchange through half-lidded eyes. Finally, able to stand it no more, she burst out: "Oh for crying out loud, *I'll* explain it then!"  
  
The other two startled at her cry, but quickly regained themselves and looked at her with two sets of eyes, each eager for insight behind her enigmatic remark and the feelings Kitty was ineptly trying to express.   
  
Rogue slouched against the tree, closing her eyes and searching her memory for the words to explicate what every sword-wielder in history has ever known.  
  
"To an assassin," she began, "And to many other warriors, a sword isn't just some inanimate object used to kill and maim. Sure, that's what it was designed for, and probably the smithies that create them only look to make them as deadly as possible. But to those who use them, they're something different. A true assassin - not just some penny-per-dozen rent-a-blade - treats their sword with respect. It's their oldest and dearest friend. The one they can count on when everything and everybody else deserts them. More than that, it's a part of them. A part of their being, a part of their arm when they swing it, a part of themselves. In fact, Guild Lore believes that, when you receive your own personal blade, a piece of your spirit flows into it, binding you to it until your dying day. From then on, it's not just a hunk of metal. It's a tangible part of your soul. A part that'll defend and protect you no matter what. It won't judge and it won't hold grudges. It's above that sort of thing, beyond it.   
  
"As long as people exist, there will be discontentment. It's in their nature, as is the desire to kill and destroy. It doesn't matter what race they are. Human, Troll, Mage, Elf, it's a basic fundamental part of life. Children who have never known war will still kill flies without a second thought, and many will torture the creatures even before they know what torture is or that it's wrong.   
  
"But people also have in them the capacity for great love and beauty. A person who's truly bonded with their sword embodies both of these. He or she takes this discontentment of the masses and weaves it with their blade into something beautiful. They remove the guilt from those to weak to create this beauty, and shoulder it all themselves. The soul within their sword forgives them for what they do, because it knows that if they didn't do it, then someone else would - perhaps incompetently and painfully so. Thus this piece of their spirit ensures that the sword is used only when this subtle beauty can be created, and never for petty, bloody pain. Needless grief. This is what a true swordsman feels when they touch a blade. Their soul dances crying out for this beauty, but at the same time it warns against what can happen if the metal is used wrongly. That is what I mean when I say that a sword can decide for itself."  
  
Rogue sat for a moment. The words had come so easily, almost as if she weren't speaking them herself, but rather being used as a mouthpiece for a higher power. She wasn't so verbose, but had heard her own voice reel off articulately exactly what it meant to hold and use a sword. She'd surprised herself, but still the words had come. Like water trickling down a stream, swelling to become the ocean. Deep and unfathomable.   
  
It was a few moments before she even realised that with her conclusion silence had descended upon the world. A deathly hush.   
  
Rogue opened one eye, and saw both Kitty and Kurt staring at her, incredulity and awe clearly etched into their twin gazes. She was slightly taken aback by this, and opened her other eye in surprise.  
  
"That was...." Kitty started, then stopped.  
  
"I've never heard it put that way before, Frauline," Kurt supplied. "I always just thought of a sword as a killing implement. It never occurred to me that it could be anything else."  
  
Rogue was suddenly struck by ineloquence, and verbally fumbled, her previous fluency deserting her in the face of their open-mouthed shock. "Yeah, well, it can and it is," she said harshly.   
  
"Does that, like, mean that part of *your* soul is in *this* sword?" Kitty held it up so that the last remnants of sunlight flashed off its steely surface.   
  
The reflection dived into Rogue's eyes and she squinted, momentarily blinded. All at once the tête-à-tête became a little too personal for the ex-assassin, and she lunged forward to grab her sword from Kitty's fingers.  
  
"None of your damn business, shrimp!"  
  
Kitty squeaked and shuffled sideways, away from her. Kurt took the opportunity to leap from where he stood onto the trunk of the oak and scuttle into its branches. He disappeared from view, the only signal of his presence being several assorted birds that fluttered into the air when he bounded past their roost.  
  
The moment of affinity was gone. The temporary peace between the trio dissipated, leaving only one scared Changeling and a grumpy ex-assassin sitting opposite each other as the heat of the evening began to cool into night around them.  
  
Rogue got to her feet, sheathing her much-talked-about sword with a metallic 'snikt' and tossing her cloak carelessly behind her.   
  
"Time to bed down," She declared. "Half-pint, up the tree. Now."  
  
"But...." Kitty protested. However, one look at Rogue's transmuted expression and the objection died in her throat.   
  
Steeling herself, the younger girl also rose and began her shaky ascent of the tree. It wasn't so difficult. Years of aging had created many bumps and pits in the bark which served as suitable holds for her fingers and feet, but still her progress was slow, owing to her - albeit, not as bad as it had been - fear of heights. Her trepidation wasn't as pronounced as before. After the loftiness of the Elevada tree, the Oak seemed spindly and undersized, but it still emerged from her subconscious just enough to cause her some anxiety and restrict her advancement to a steady crawl.  
  
When she reached the lower branches a furry blue hand jutted out to take her own.  
  
"Here, Kätzchen, I'll help you." Kurt pulled her up to sit next to him on a sturdy bough. She wobbled a bit, but remained upright. "I've found the perfect place for you to sleep," he told her, and together they inched along to where the very top of the trunk splayed out into the tree's many branches.   
  
Here, two particularly thick boughs had sprouted at right angles from one-another, fashioning a kind of hollow between them. It was just the right size to comfortably contain a curled up human - or Changeling, as the case may be.   
  
Kurt stayed long enough to see Kitty safely settled, and then scampered up onto a glorified twig some way above that was to be his bed.  
  
Rogue swung easily up into the Oak's leafy clinch, and pointedly chose a spot quite some distance away from the other two. She shoved herself into it, ignoring the fact that it was actually quite uncomfortable, and mollifying her protesting body with the thought that at least she didn't have to spend any more time with those two little annoying inconveniences. Once again, her second of compassion had surrendered to the ice-queen exterior.  
  
Kurt turned over, jostling hither and thither, trying to get comfortable. A voice floated up from where its owner was concealed by the foliage below.  
  
"Hey, Kurt, like, stop fidgeting. You're, like, raining leaves and dirt all over me."  
  
"Sorry, Katzchen," he apologised. "I'm just trying to get comfy. Es ist hard on a branch as thin as this one."  
  
"Then like, choose a thicker branch," she reasoned commonsensically.  
  
Kurt's answer filtered through the shuddering flora: "Are you kidding? I have this habit that, if the branch is bigger than me, I tend to roll off it in the night. Sehr unbequem."  
  
Kitty rolled her eyes. "Well can you like, get settled soon? I don't really appreciate the shower. Plus, I think you're *moulting*! There's loads of fur mixed with these leaves, and it *tickles*!"  
  
"Perhaps it's moulting season for the squirrels?" he offered by way of rationalization.  
  
"*Blue* squirrels?" Kitty suppressed a giggle.  
  
"Well, maybe they're depressed," the reply shot back effortlessly, with all the mischief and fun that she'd come to associate with the elf since they first met.  
  
"Whatever. This stuff itches something awful, though. It's getting in all my clothes and, oh no! Now it's in my hair too!"  
  
"And I'll bet you look lovely with blue streaks, Kleines. Very chic."   
  
"No really, Kurt. I'm scratching like crazy down here. Like, eew! Maybe you have fleas or something."  
  
Kurt looked over the side of his perch, aghast. "Flöhe? Eine was für Idee! What a ridiculous idea, Kätzchen. I only just had a bath."   
  
"Like, whatever. All I know is that your fur is making me itch. Oh man, I'm gonna be like, finding this stuff in my clothes for days now!" Kitty picked clumps of blue fuzz from where they'd floated onto her undyed woollen dress and greasy brown tresses.  
  
Absently she removed the scrap of fabric holding her ponytail in place - which had become rather lop-sided of late - and ran her fingers through her hair to remove it, grimacing at the dust and assorted grime that shook out as she did so. Cleanliness wasn't as important to her as it patently was to Kurt, but it still bothered her to be *that* filthy.   
  
She touched the bald spot on her crown, wincing slightly because the skin there was still raw. The cool air acted like a balm upon it, so she decided to leave her hair loose and allow the burn some time to breathe.   
  
Turning over, she curled into a cosy ball, idly playing with a greasy strand in her mouth before realising what she was doing and spitting it out. "Blech!"  
  
"Kätzchen, are you alright?" Kurt sounded worried at the vomiting noises she was making. But it wasn't the Changeling who answered him.  
  
"Will y'all just shut up and go to sleep! Shrimp, quit your complaining. Fuzzy, stop moving 'afore I cut off your tail and use it as a new belt!" Rogue glowered in their general direction, despite the fact that they couldn't see her.   
  
The tone of her voice was like an instant sedative, and the tree's occupants feel into quiescence in an instant. Rogue's facial muscles relaxed a smidgen, and she leaned back for some, as she classed it, well-deserved rest.  
  
Yet sleep evaded her for quite some time, and even when her eyelids did begin to droop, an errant thought darted about her brain, invading her space and refusing to be quelled until she noticed it. It was difficult not to, and no matter how valiantly Rogue tried, she found herself confronted with this unwelcome notion at every mental turn. It preyed upon her, as does a wolf upon hapless sheep. Flying around and encircling her psyche in a tight grasp. Choking her like some rapid, cloying weed.  
  
A sword is an assassin's spirit. His or her very soul in corporeal form.  
  
But she was no longer a member of the Guild that held such belief. She could no longer call herself a true assassin. She was an outcast, shunned by her own kind. She was The Rogue.   
  
Did that mean she had no soul?  
  
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To Be Continued....  
  
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*TRANSLATIONS*  
  
  
GERMANIC:  
  
'Tadellos' - Perfectly  
'Hören Sie' - listen  
'Können Sie das hören?' - Can you hear that?  
'Sehr unbequem' - Very uncomfortable  
'Kleines' - Little one  
'Flöhe?' - Fleas?  
'Eine was für Idee!' - What an idea! 


	9. Danger At The River

DISCLAIMER: X-Men: Evo belongs to Warner Bros. And Marvel Comics. I have never, and shall never own them, no matter how much I may want to. I've simply warped them to fit my own twisted mind. However, this fic and any original work herein is officially mine, and anyone trying to steal it will find out how painful a weapon a computer mouse can when used by someone with imagination.  
  
WARNINGS: This is an AU (Alternative Universe) fic. Everything has been transplanted into a fantasy universe of my creation. Inspirations, despite what you might initially think, aren't actually from a certain Peter-Jackson-esque film, since I started work on this before I ever *saw* that movie. Influences rather include InterNutter's spiffy fic 'Mein Teuful' (if you haven't yet read this then go do it *now*!) and various other sources I'll explain later.  
  
CODES:   
Hello = Narration  
~ Hello ~ = Thought  
"Hello" = Character Speaking  
*Hello* = Bold  
//Hello// = Psychic communication  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Hello again. After two essays, five internet briefing papers and a lotta scribing on InterNutter's Bulletin Board, I have returned to OBAB in a blaze of glory. Well, perhaps not quite a blaze, more of a flicker really, but you get the picture. I actually pulled the lead out a little early to release this chapter, and this is mainly for two reasons. Reason number one: I promised InterNutter that if she let me archive a new fic on her site I'd dedicate this instalment to her. I luv ya, 'Nutter! Reason number two: I had a chapter of someone else's fic dedicated to me! Simmysim, this one's for you too. As soon as you've finished reading, get back yo writing more of 'fantasy', y'hear!  
  
Quick notelets; *please* will people review when they read this fic. I was looking back over the old reviews and I had such a great response to the Prologue, but thing's seem to have dwindled since then. Also, Sujakata, you definitely win the prize for longest review I've ever had. Not that I'm complaining, of course. ^_____^ Feedback beats Ambrosia as a food of the gods. Lemme know what y'all think of this chapter too, OK? Art still very much welcome, peeps! (It's my birthday on December 15th, and that date also marks a whole years since I joined ff.net, too).  
  
Last thing now: inspiration for this instalment came from a piccy I found whilst net-trawling back in April. Harry, no it's not Poopsie, but good guess. Hopefully this critter would be able to hold its own against Poopsie, though. You can look at the image now, but I'd advise viewing it after the creature makes its appearance in the fic, otherwise there'll be no sense of surprise, now, will there?  
  
http://www.poolofradiance.com/viewin_woc.htm?thirded/thirded_lg/Displacer-Beast.jpg  
  
Or just go to www.poolofradiance.com and click on the Displacer Beast icon, same as with the chimera a few chapters back.  
  
Enough jabbering now. On with the fic!  
  
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'Of Beast And Blade' By Scribbler  
Chapter Seven ~ 'Danger At The River'  
  
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'Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.'-- Mahatma Gandhi  
  
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The world was quiet. Save for the scuttling of a mouse or other such rodent now and then, nothing stirred and nothing moved. It was as if the very air was sleeping, couched in the moon's soft gleam. An aura of peace surrounded everything, infecting everybody with its indubitable calm and natural serenity.  
  
All except one person.  
  
Kurt lay on his back in the aged Oak tree, staring through the branches at the sky. It was a deep bluish black. The colour of his own hair, yet enriched with an unfathomable quality that had both entranced and frightened superstitious folk for centuries, and would no doubt do so for centuries more. It was a cloudless night, and the rich canvas was liberally speckled with bright stars. A sliver of moon was clearly visible, sliced through by a jutting branch that ostensibly speared its luminescence with dark shadow. In all, it was a beautiful sight.  
  
Yet Kurt barely registered this as he sprawled on his perch, golden eyes unfocused and staring at nothing in particular. Inattentively he sighed and scratched his ear. A few blue hairs came loose and floated gently away from him, to be caught by an errant zephyr and whipped away. Abruptly his gaze snapped into focus and he followed their progress, watching until even he couldn't see them any more.   
  
He grunted, and turned over, careful to be absolutely silent lest he wake either Kitty or Rogue. Those two had been quiet ever since Rogue's little outburst previously, and he didn't want to interrupt their slumber and incur her wrath simply because *he* couldn't sleep.  
  
It wasn't that he wasn't tired - far from it. His lids called desperately for sleep, but somehow his mind remained too active for him to rest yet. Where his body craved slumber, his brain just kept on going. And going. And going.  
  
Specifically, it kept going concerning one thing in particular, and it involved Kitty's facetious comment from earlier.   
  
The suggestion that he might have fleas had bothered Kurt more than he'd let on. He was a fastidiously clean person when he got the chance, and though this wasn't always possible living in a forest, he'd always been careful not to pick up any unwanted houseguests. Or, if he had, he'd been quick to notice and rid himself of them before he became infested, or worse. But now....  
  
Innocent as Kitty's comment had been, Kurt now found himself unconsciously scratching his fur a lot more than usual. Oh sure, he'd had the occasional itch before, but nothing serious. Nothing that might indicate he had *fleas*. He'd always been so watchful about things like that. Still, there hadn't really been time on their journey thus far to conduct a thorough check of his hide for visitors, but surely he would have known if they were there. Surely?  
  
His three-fingered hand strayed to his arm and curled into the soft hair there, scratching gently at the skin beneath. Kurt's eyes widened as he realised what he was doing, and hastily dropped the offending limb so that it dangled off the branch, as far away from his body as it could go.   
  
However, that wasn't enough.   
  
Another tickly sensation started up at the base of his spine, and before he could stop it, his long tail had flicked up and was using its triangular tip as an effective scratching implement. After a brief moment of relief, Kurt wilfully lay his tail flat on the bark behind him, using the feel of the rough bark against the hyper-sensitive skin there as an indicator where the all-too-good-at-scratching appendage was.  
  
A moth fluttered past his face. Its flight was wayward and erratic, much like his thoughts. They flitted from one thing to another, never really settling and invariably returning to the topic that had claimed most of his mind. Yet more itchy patches had started up on his shin and neck, but he resisted the urge to scratch at them. That is, until more manifested on his stomach, chest and shoulder blade, at which point he gave in and sat bolt upright, clawing at himself like a tiger in a fury.  
  
~Right. That's it. I'm going to have another wash!~ he thought vehemently when this fierce scratching session was over.  
  
Sliding with cat-like precision and grace along his branch to the tree trunk, Kurt proceeded to swiftly descend to the ground. Once there, he allowed for a quick glance around him - nothing had stirred, so he assumed both girls were still sleeping soundly, but it always paid to be careful around Rogue - before scampering off towards the riverbank.  
  
However, he hadn't gone more than a few steps when something caught his attention. Or, more accurately, the attention of his sensitive nose. His nostrils twitched as a familiar scent assaulted them, only to be whipped away again on the night breeze.   
  
He froze.  
  
~Was that...?~ He sniffed again, turning his head in the direction of the delicious aroma. As tempting as washing was, Kurt's overpowering appetite generally always won out when he was forced into making a decision between food and cleanliness. Noiselessly he spun round and followed his snout.  
  
The scent led him further downstream, to a spot almost completely overgrown with trees, shrubs and all manner of other plant life. He would have continued through the treetops, but the smell seemed to be coming from ground level, and he dropped to all fours with his nose to the ground like a dog.   
  
Finally, when the overpowering greenery made it almost impossible to move, and he was on the verge of giving up, he spotted them.  
  
~Ah, mushrooms. I knew it!~ he thought happily as his keen eyesight espied the diminutive clump of greyish fungi through the near-impenetrable mass of overhanging bracken.   
  
Crouching low, he crawled on his belly beneath the bracken towards the tantalizing cluster. Deftly he chose one and broke it of at the base of the stem. Giving it a precursory sniff to determine its edibility, he popped it whole into his mouth, a large grin spreading across his face as the flavour hit his taste buds. It was just as he remembered, a hint above blandness, but tangy nonetheless.   
  
In virtually no time, all that was left of them were several stumps and a very satisfied elf, licking his chops.   
  
Absently he cleaned the last crumbs from his facial fur, feline style, liberally smearing the side of his hand with spit and catching the excess in it. This unconscious action evoked a cognisant thought.   
  
~Oh ja, bath-time.~ He broke off swabbing to sit up, poking his head through the thick fronds.   
  
It was then that Kurt realised just *how* far downstream his mushroom-quest had taken him. He didn't recognise this area at all, and mounds of solid foliage obscured his view in every direction.  
  
~Mein Gott, how far did I go?~ he wondered.   
  
The sound of rushing water reached his ears. He was still quite close to the river then, although he couldn't see it from here.   
  
~Oh well, this spot should be as good as any for a wash. I'll just follow the bank back to the tree afterwards. At least here there'll be less chance of waking Rogue or Kitty with my splashing.~  
  
With this decision out of the way, Kurt pushed his way through the bracken and other greenery towards the sound of the water.   
  
It was hard going, and eventually he elected that travelling beneath the leaves was easier than trying to struggle through them. A lot less of his fur painfully snagged on twigs that way, and he acquired fewer bald patches as a result.  
  
He was just coming to the very edge of the foliage - apparently it stretched right to the edge of the bank, dipping several leaf tips into the water itself - and the promise of sanitation when he found them.   
  
At first he thought he'd touched the dead body of some animal when he put his hand down and instead of finding hard ground it sank into something soft and warm. He yanked it back, inadvertently shaking all three fingers in disgust. Then he realised that it couldn't be a corpse because the smell was all wrong. It smelled musky, but not putrid as rotting flesh would do. More stale, like old sweat and dirt - although that was putting it generally. There was dirt everywhere around him.   
  
Cautiously he leaned towards the soft mound and inhaled its scent. There was something recognizable, but he couldn't quite place it. It hadn't moved when he'd stepped on it, so he reached out and tentatively prodded. The tiny heap remained still. Inanimate. He prodded it again, with the same results. Heartened that it didn't appear to be about to leap up and bite him, the blue-furred boy laid one palm on it. It was soft yet scratchy, like the old blanket he'd used as part of his bed at home. He gripped it gently and dragged it towards him. Still no movement. He dragged it a little more. His sharp golden eyes could make out its shape now, and this too seemed very familiar.   
  
When it was close enough, Kurt held the thing up to get a better look at it. It appeared to be some item of clothing. Wide and baggy, it was several moments before he saw it for what it really was.  
  
A skirt.   
  
A skirt? What was a skirt doing out here in the middle of nowhere?   
  
Kurt leaned forwards and grasped the rest of the pile. They were all various forms of attire. All female, and all were imbued with the same musky scent.   
  
What on earth was going on here? They might be the remains of an animal attack. But then, what kind of creature would leave the clothes intact when it devoured the body? He doubted there was anything capable of doing so, but his experience with the chimera had proved to him that there were beasts in this world he'd never even conceived existed. Perhaps one of them was responsible for this pitiable pile?   
  
But no, he quickly dismissed the idea of it being an attack of any kind - bestial or otherwise. For one thing, there was no blood anywhere around, and he couldn't scent any on the breeze. For another, the area was completely unscathed and there were no signs of a struggle. How strange. He'd stumbled upon a miniature mystery without even looking for it.   
  
Kurt's head cocked to one side in thought, and his ears twitched as they always did when he was confused or puzzled.  
  
Abruptly in the silence that ensued, he suddenly became aware of a noise. A faint splashing, like when water being pulled along by a current comes up against a rock. It was coming from further ahead.   
  
Thinking it might possibly have something to do with his mystery, Kurt padded forwards a short distance, the clothes still in his hands, and surreptitiously poked his head above the bracken to investigate.  
  
What he saw made him colour right down to the roots of his fur, and he had to stifle a gasp by ramming his hand into his mouth.   
  
A figure stood some way out in the river, just far enough that the water level came up above its hips - which was shallow where the depths of the Danub were concerned. It was a female, and she was completely naked, fortunately with her back to Kurt. A mop of unruly brown hair stretched down her spine, dripping wet. Water splashed faintly against her porcelain skin as it rushed past, and as she turned around the furry boy turned four shades of red when her face was revealed.   
  
It was Kitty!  
  
Kurt ducked down into the concealment of the bracken. It seemed Kitty'd had the same idea as himself about a midnight wash. The privacy of the night had suited her clandestine needs, it seemed, as had this removed spot downstream. With a silence he wouldn't have thought possible of her, she must have slipped away to bathe without the threat of her companions waking and chancing upon her.  
  
~Und here I am nearly waltzing straight in on her!~ Kurt mentally berated himself, although the mistake was hardly his fault.  
  
He waited for a few seconds until he was sure she hadn't seen him, and then began to quietly creep away.   
  
He was back at the sad little clump of non-mushrooms before he realised that, in his haste, he'd forgotten to leave behind her clothes. They were still tightly clasped in his own thick fingers.   
  
Cursing himself under his breath, he turned around and went back, praying she hadn't left the water yet and found her garments missing.  
  
She hadn't. Forced by necessity to see where she was, Kurt popped his face above the bracken once more. Kitty still stood in the water. She was facing the bank now, but her hands were held to her face as she washed it and her arms obscured most of her front. He dropped her clothes in roughly the same place he'd found them, and risked a last glance at the river to make sure she wasn't about to leave it and catch him there.  
  
Moonlight bounced off the Changeling's skin, giving her an ethereal quality that sunlight just couldn't compete with. She seemed so delicate, like she was made of fine crystal, and liable to shatter at any moment. Kurt's head made to turn away, but his golden eyes remained. Held fast by the untimely beauty imbued upon her by the Lady Moon.   
  
It occurred to his id that he'd never seen a female body before. His consciousness was too firmly fixed on Kitty to acknowledge this musing, but his subliminal mind recognized it immediately. His life of coerced solitude and general looks hadn't allowed for him to make many acquaintances, least of all female ones. Of course, there had been his mother, but she'd seemed so regal in her magenta robes that to think what lay beneath was too blasphemous for words. Somehow she'd always been classified in his mind as mother first, woman second, and all other observations of her had followed in the same order.  
  
Thus it was with almost childlike inquisitiveness that Kurt stared at the pale form bathing in the moon's soft glow. There was no smuttiness to his gaze, only innocent curiosity. Like a newborn rabbit kit emerging from its birthing burrow for the first time, to look upon the outside world, so different from the close, dark world it was used to.   
  
Kurt knew girls were different than boys, but the details weren't something he'd ever bothered himself with. As far as he'd been concerned when growing up, the only way to tell them apart was that boys threw rocks when they saw him, whilst girls screamed at the first hint of blue fur. Either way, hostility was all he'd ever known, and physical observations had only stretched to 'no fur, so they won't like me because I'm different than them.'   
  
Kitty bent down, dragging his thoughts with her. Almost languidly she cupped a pool of water in her hands and dashed it against her face. Her expression was one of happiness - almost glee - as she sprayed herself with the cooling liquid, removing the accumulated grime and filth from her skin. Cleansing herself in more ways than one. Small droplets coursed down her cheekbones, plopping back into the water with inaudible drips.   
  
She straightened up again, tilting her head and closing her eyes to the splinter of moon. Her lips curved into a relaxed smile as she simply let the water wash about her, revelling in the soothing sensation of the peaceful night. All her bravado and daring façade melted away under the unprecedented sheen, and she was left as she was. An adolescent girl, at peace with herself and the world around her. In her contented nakedness, Kurt thought that he'd never seen her look lovelier. To him, she seemed radiant.   
  
They stayed that way for quite a few minutes, neither moving, and only one being aware of the other. The solitary sound was that of the river, which noted them with the same damp indifference as it had seen the universe for countless years. It was uninterested in these two. They were insignificant in the grand scheme of things, and none of its concern. To coin a phrase, they barely made a ripple in its consideration.  
  
However, at that moment, something else rippled its attention. Something that it could not ignore. This thing made fewer physical waves than the bathing girl, but its impact on the river was instantaneous. Those acutely in tune with nature would have sensed the change in the atmosphere immediately. A sense of impending kismet. Of a released darkness, which altered the very fabric of the unresponsive river, making it dangerous and foreboding without actually altering its face.  
  
Of all this, both Kitty and Kurt were ignorant. Kitty wasn't insightful enough to sense it, and though Kurt may have been able to had he been concentrating, he was too absorbed at present to notice it either. Silently the darkness locked onto them. In that instant, their fate was sealed.  
  
Kurt was the first to see it, despite his interest being elsewhere. A shadow on the water's surface: or at least that was what he thought. That is, until it started moving.   
  
It was in the middle of the river, where the water was deeper, and flitted about constantly. He half-considered it to be merely the product of his overtired brain, but something about it told him otherwise. It was too solid, too corporeal for that. His gaze reluctantly transferred from Kitty to this darting blackness.  
  
It was strange. Notwithstanding its erratic movement, the shadow was moving in a single general direction - towards the bank. As it drew closer, Kurt's keen vision perceived that it was not a silhouette reflected upon the surface as he'd at first thought, but rather a black mass beneath it. It was large, and grew as it entered the shallows, like a large object coming more into focus with the absence of depth to hide it.   
  
Too late he realised what its intentions and goal must be.  
  
Kitty was peacefully oblivious of any danger until it struck. One moment she was blissfully immersing herself in the moon's pale illumination, the next the water beside her had quite literally exploded and she found herself hurled into the air and splashing down several feet away. Coughing and spluttering she struggled to right herself, but slipped and crashed into the frothy liquid once more.  
  
"Kätzchen!"   
  
A voice. Calling her name. Kurt? What was he doing here? Come to think of it, where exactly *was* he? Kitty's mouth filled with water as she tried to suck in a lungful of air. What in all Seven Hells was going on?   
  
Finding her feet, she stood up, clutching at her chest in an effort to conceal herself and retain some shred of dignity.  
  
Through the haze of fluid clouding her eyes Kitty saw a familiar blue figure bounding from the bracken onshore and jumping into the shallows with a loud splash. Water dripped off her nose and she thought angrily to herself:  
  
~Kurt? What's he like, playing at? He's supposed to be *asleep*! Man, I never like, figured him for a pervert!~ She glared at him, yet he kept on coming towards her. But there was something fluttering in his hands, and one look at his worried face instantly told her that it hadn't been him that disturbed her peace and sent her sprawling. A cold hand of fear suddenly gripped the Changeling's heart.   
  
If it hadn't been Kurt, then what *had* attacked her?  
  
Her answer was delivered directly. Kitty barely had time to register that Kurt was running towards her before a veritable wall of water obscured him. It gushed up in front of her, to come smashing down on top of her head, beating her to her knees with its sheer force.   
  
Kitty gasped, but her maw filled with liquid and her lungs spasmed to rid themselves of it. She crouched on her knees, water reaching up to her neck and her entire frame wracked with sobbing coughs that seemed to shake her very bones. Her muscles hurt under the torrent of water, and she lifted her eyes to see what had caused such a massive fountain.  
  
Yet her attacker still chose to remain unseen. All Kitty glimpsed before it disappeared again was a flash of bluish-black hide.   
  
Desperately she cast about her, but it was nowhere to be seen. Fear tensed its grip inside her chest, moving downwards to her stomach where it became a block of ice, weighing her down.  
  
"Kätzchen!" Kurt burst through the froth, a flailing mass of slicked blue fur and anxious golden eyes. He landed next to her, his expression one of concern. "Kätzchen, are you all right?"  
  
In spite of their predicament, Kitty couldn't help a spark of anger flaring up inside her chest.   
  
"Kurt, what are you, like, doing here? You're meant to be back at the tree!" Her tone was accusing, and Kurt bowed his head, abashed.  
  
"I'm sorry, Kleines. I didn't mean to spy, honest I didn't. But right now we've got bigger things to worry about."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like *that*!" He pointed to where the dark shadow was visible beneath the glassy surface once more.   
  
Hastily he handed the girl several drenched items she discerned as her clothes. She threw the biggest - her skirt - around her shoulders as a makeshift shroud just before the water before them erupted again. Kurt grabbed her hand, and together they were buffeted aside by the gigantic swell that accompanied the explosion.  
  
When they finally came to a stop Kitty perceived that they'd been moved a substantial distance away from the shore. When standing up the water now easily reached her chest. Not a good sign. Frantically she held on to Kurt's tridactyl hand. She still had absolutely no idea what was going on, and the not knowing scared her just as much as the assailant did.  
  
Kurt stood quite still, relying on his hypersensitive instincts to observe where the shadow was. Golden orbs scanned the water, but the increased deepness made it difficult to distinguish one shadow from another. Still he concentrated. He concentrated so much that the backs of his eyeballs hurt and his mind ached trying to split such intense focus between all of his senses. He felt Kitty's grip on his hand tighten in fear, and beat down his own trepidation for her sake. He couldn't crack, not now. Not when so much rode on his keeping a clear head.  
  
There, to their right. A flash of blackness too deep and pure to be a normal shadow. Kurt leapt aside, dragging Kitty unceremoniously with him. A nanosecond after they moved the water where they'd been spewed upwards in a veritable geyser of flotsam and foam. Kitty huddled against him, yanking the skirt closer around her slender frame and staring in terror up at the demonic apparition that rose from the water.  
  
The attacker paused for a moment after it broke free of the surface, glaring at them with a look that seemed to say: 'How dare you move when I'm coming for you, you insolent little whelps!' Golden and blue eyes gawped at it, and their insides knotted with dread.   
  
It was feline in appearance, but much bigger than any cat either of them had ever come across before - even Kurt's puma. About six feet in height at the shoulder, it resembled a large panther, with bluish-black fur slicked to its body like a second skin. However, this was where the similarity ended.   
  
Water coursed copiously from the creature's spindly yet powerful frame, all but eclipsing the six legs attached to its underside. Each limb seemed incongruously frail, but the strength that lay in each of them was patently obvious all the same.   
  
A long, thin, whip-like tail sprouted form its hindquarters, lashing furiously about and sending up a smaller spray to accompany the larger one falling all about it. The tail was vaguely reptilian, but the feet and legs looked more like those of a wolf. It was thinner than either adolescent could have thought possible unless through starvation. Its belly was having a conversation with its backbone, and every rib was painfully visible through husping skin.   
  
Two things caught their attention most of all in that split second when it paused long enough to stare and give them a chance to see it properly. The first was its head, which was that of a panther, but contained several extra rows of needle-sharp yellow fangs, all dripping with fetid saliva as well as water. Its nose was blood red and its lips were drawn back into a permanent snarl of hatred.   
  
Its eyes were no more than a pair of lustrous green slits, devoid of pupils and the merest hint of compassion. Its gaze was cold, but frighteningly intelligent. Whereas the chimera had been terrifying but instinctive, this creature possessed a harsh shrewdness behind those blank eyes that rivalled the sentience of any humanoid. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then this strange beast had a soul of blackest ice.   
  
The other thing - or rather, things - that claimed their attention were the two long, muscular tentacles growing from just behind the creature's first set of shoulders. Each was at least twenty feet long and tipped with a large flat diamond of flesh covered in wickedly jagged barbs, each several inches in length and deadly down to their honed point.   
  
It was as if someone had taken a wildcat and an octopus and merged them together to create this hideous, astute monster. Truly, a freak of nature.  
  
If ever a more demoniacal spectre existed, then neither Kitty nor Kurt had ever come across it. This thing seemed to embody all the fears and hatred contained in the universe, rolling them into a ball and liberally smearing itself in them. It stood before them, oozing odium from every pore and seeking something - anything - on which to vent this unadulterated loathing.   
  
Two emerald eyelets glared at them and a hiss like that of a hot sword being plunged into cold water slithered from its jaws.  
  
"Oh gods!" Kitty whimpered, not taking her eyes off it. "A Displacer Beast!"  
  
"A what?" Kurt demanded, but his query went unanswered as the alien creature chose that moment to cease its glowering and lunge at the pair.   
  
Kurt leaped adroitly aside, neatly avoiding the snapping teeth, but from high overhead one of the tentacles came crashing down, and though he spun nimbly away to avoid it his hand was roughly wrenched from Kitty's in the process. He heard her squeal in panic and sudden hurt, but was too busy evading the thrashing limb to get to her.  
  
"Kätzchen!" he yelled, but the cry was lost in the noise of splashing water as the Displacer Beast plunged beneath the surface once more, sending up a fine spray of erstwhile harmless fluid. Kurt spluttered as it vanished, leaving him crouching chest deep in water with no sign of Kitty anywhere.  
  
The blue-furred boy scrambled to his feet. "Kätzchen!" he called desperately. "Kitty! Where are you?"  
  
No answer.   
  
A terrible sinking feeling manifested inside of Kurt, and he cupped his hands around his mouth, not caring if the Displacer Beast came back as long as he could find the Changeling girl.   
  
"Kitty? Kleines? Wo sind Sie?"   
  
Still nothing.   
  
The dreadful feeling increased. Oh gods, what if something had happened to her? It was all his fault. He shouldn't have let go of her hand. How could he ever forgive himself if....  
  
"Kurt...." A voice, weak and soft but there nonetheless, filtered through the haze of self-doubt clouding the boy's mind. He heard it and spun round in the direction it was coming from.   
  
"Kitty? Are you there? Speak to me!"  
  
"I'm over here...."  
  
He swivelled round. There! There she was! In the shallows again. Ostensibly, the beast's assault had knocked the brown haired girl back towards the riverbank, and she knelt there, water lapping against her helplessly nude body.  
  
"Kitty!" Kurt cried happily. He rushed to her side, ecstatic despite their quandary at seeing her alive. For one gods-forsaken moment there he'd thought.... Well, what he'd thought was just too horrible to contemplate, and he pushed it from his psyche in favour of pleasure at seeing her alive and well.  
  
But no, something was wrong. Kitty was alive alright, but she wasn't 'well'. Her arms were clasped around her bare abdomen, and her pretty face was contorted into a strained mask of pain. Kurt's expression faltered.  
  
"Kätzchen, are you OK?"  
  
She didn't look up. "Yeah, I'm fine. Are you alright?"  
  
"Ja." He studied her face with a trained eye. "But you're lying to me. You're hurt."  
  
"Just a scratch," she replied. "It doesn't matter. What *does* matter is that we get away before the Displacer Beast comes back."  
  
Kurt couldn't argue with this sensible deduction, but he was still worried about her. She shivered, clutching the pitiful covering tightly around her and trying to rise whilst maintaining some amount of decorum. One hand flew to cover her bare chest, and with its removal from her abdomen a thread of crimson leaked over her other arm and dripped into the water.  
  
"You *are* hurt!" Kurt exclaimed. Without hesitation he pulled his own threadbare shirt off and pulled it over her head to remove some of her embarrassment. "Here wear this, it'll staunch the blood if you hold it against your wound."  
  
Kitty nodded dumbly. The cut across her stomach was only a flesh wound and not really serious, but sure as hell hurt! Kurt's shirt, however, slipped easily over her and was baggy enough to cover most of her extremities, for which she was glad. At least she wasn't so discomfited now.  
  
Kurt stared at where the blood had formed a red mist in the liquid around them. There was blood in the water. They had to get away *now*. If this 'Displacer Beast' was a carnivore - and, judging by its teeth alone, it was - then it could probably sense this. The blood would act as a homing beacon straight to them.  
  
"We have to get ashore, right now!" he said. "Hopefully that'll slow it down."  
  
"Fat chance! It's a *Displacer Beast*. It can walk on land too," Kitty said pessimistically, as if he should know what this meant. However, she did as he said, and scrambled for the overgrown shoreline.  
  
Kitty was first to clamber out, and turned to hold out her hand as Kurt followed suit. Gratefully he grasped it, using her as a lever to haul himself up, but the bank was slippery, and his fur-covered feet were wet. He slipped, and sprawled facedown in the mud and bracken. It was only his grip on Kitty that prevented him from falling in again.   
  
Kitty's head jerked up as a familiar dark shape powered into view several feet behind him.  
  
"Hurry Kurt, it's coming!" she yelled, giving his arm a sharp tug to help.  
  
Slipping and slithering, Kurt gained a purchase and crawled onto the bank, lashing his tail furiously from side to side to maintain balance.   
  
Abruptly the water they'd just left parted in a shower of droplets as a repugnant panther-like head thrust its way up. Without vacillation - almost like it had planned it - the Displacer Beast stretched its neck and clamped its front teeth around the end of Kurt's tail. He cried out at the burst of intense agony from the extra-sensitive appendage, but it was cut short as the creature jerked back and dragged him bodily underwater with it.   
  
Kitty stumbled as his hand was snatched from her own.  
  
"Kurt!"  
  
The only indication of his position was the mass of bubbles where he'd disappeared. Kitty strained to see something, some sign that he was OK, but looking into the water from outside rendered her to all intents and purposes blind.  
  
She stood up, preparing to jump in after him. It was foolish, she knew. After all, this was a Displacer Beast they were dealing with here. One of the deadliest creatures in the world, it was rare for one to be spotted, and even rarer for an encounter with one to be survived. But she couldn't just leave Kurt to drown or be ripped apart. She couldn't! Her heart sank within her breast at the mere prospect, and without hesitation the slender girl made as if to leap.  
  
Yet there was no need for her to go into the water, because at that precise moment the duo of elf and beast broke the surface again. Kurt struggled vainly from where part of his waist was clamed firmly between the creature's immense jaws, beating at it with his fists. His efforts were like a fly to a lion, and he yelled as it tightened its clench and threw its head from side to side like a dog with a rabbit.  
  
Kurt became a blur of indigo and pain-filled screams. Kitty stared in horror at the scene playing out in front of her.  
  
"Kurt!" she yelled uselessly. "Kurt!"   
  
A growl rent the air. A growl that stilled her heart and widened her eyes as it vibrated the ground under her bare feet. Kurt's cries were instantly dwarfed by this terrifying growl - hidden behind it. Birds that had erstwhile been roosting peacefully in the surrounding trees took to the air in fright, and everywhere was filled with their startled bickering and calling.  
  
Kurt felt the rumble slam through his body, shaking him down to his bones. It was petrifying, but the sharp teeth pressing into him reminded him of his physical body and prevented his natural instinct of freezing in panic. Instead, he leaned forward, back muscles screaming as they bent more than they were supposed to, and rammed his fingers hard into one green eye.  
  
The Displacer Beast roared in pain and fury. In doing so, it opened its mouth wider, just as Kurt had planned, and he rolled dexterously out to splash down in the water. Barely pausing long enough to regain his feet, Kurt sprinted for the shore, and utilizing a strength borne of fear he leaped clean out of the river and landed heavily beside Kitty.  
  
"Come on!" he barked, taking her hand and bolting through the thick undergrowth. The Changeling was literally dragged along behind him, but made no protest. In fact, when an angry snarl sounded out behind them it was all Kurt could do to keep up with the speeding girl.   
  
They ran as fast as they could, but were forced to alter their direction when another snarl originated from their left. The two adolescents banked right, barrelling through as speedily as the thick greenery would let them. There was no time to think, no time to consider their options. There was only time to flee. Everything worked on instinct, sentient thought temporarily shelved in favour of survival impulses.   
  
The sound of a bulky body crashing through the foliage. Where? To the right. Go left. Keep running. Don't stop. Don't look back. Just keep going. Keep going. Nothing was as important as keeping going and avoiding the thing that was tracking them.   
  
Kurt vaulted over a sizable rock blocking their path, but Kitty glanced off it as she tried to go around, shaving precious seconds off their escape time. A smear of red appeared on the drenched shirt, and she clutched it to herself, sticking to the elf's earlier advice and using it to stem the blood. Red hot shards of pain lanced though her body, but she pushed herself onwards despite them. She couldn't crack. She wouldn't let herself crack! If she faltered then they were both dead. She couldn't do that to Kurt, not after he'd risked his life to save her.   
  
She knew that he could go much faster if not hampered by her clumsy body, but he refused to adhere to the path decreed by logic and the law of survival by leaving her behind. Her resolve hardened, and she urged her legs to move faster than they'd ever moved before. Faster than was humanly possible. Faster, faster, always faster, because faster was what they needed to stay alive.  
  
However, always they were dodging. Wherever they went, a growl would start up to their left, or they'd hear crashing footsteps to their right and be coerced into taking another line of flight. They changed direction so many times that soon Kitty was hopelessly lost, and trusted solely to Kurt's senses to get them safely away from there.   
  
It was this notion that sparked another, more serious one within her mind.  
  
~Oh gods, what are we, like, gonna do if we *can't* lose this thing? We can't fight it, it's too strong. Oh gods, help us. Please!~  
  
She sent up a silent prayer to all the gods she knew of, and some she didn't, begging them to show mercy and remove them from this lethal dilemma they now found themselves in. Her feet ached and bled as the ground cut them open, her breath came in ragged gasps, and the flesh of her belly stung horribly, but still she muttered taciturnly for some miracle to rescue them.  
  
Kurt had no time for such frivolities. He was much too concerned with keeping one step ahead of the Displacer Beast. He could discern it clearly, whether by sight or sound, moving almost beside them but staying predominantly hidden, and curiously making no move to strike. It remained a constant distance away, making itself known intermittently - enough that they could avoid it - but never attacking.   
  
Kurt's golden eyes narrowed. Something was wrong with this behaviour. He'd seen that creature up close. There was no playfulness in its eyes. This was not some tame housecat that played with its prey, no matter how much it resembled a feline in appearance. This was a killer. A hunter. Purely and simply, a towering mass of lethal flesh and cold deviousness. So why, with its obvious intelligence, wasn't it attacking them whilst it had the chance? It didn't make sense. Several times Kurt was aware of just how open and vulnerable they were, but still no aggression was forthcoming. It was almost as if it was waiting for something....  
  
He came upon his answers a few sickening seconds later, when he stumbled forwards through the underbrush, only to find himself teetering on the brink of the river once more. The ground at his feet was churned and muddy, clear evidence of his own earlier struggle.   
  
At once he realized what the Displacer Beast had been up to. It hadn't been chasing them at all, it had been *herding* them. Like a dog herds hapless sheep, and they'd done exactly what it wanted by going back to the very location where it had all the advantages and where they had nowhere to go but into the water or along the bank. A place where it could reach them, and was no doubt already waiting. He cursed himself and his own absence of forethought under his breath.  
  
"Scheiße! Was habe ich jetzt getan? Ich bin solch ein Idiot! Ich sollte gewußt haben."  
  
"Kurt?" Kitty's shaky voice, tight with suppressed fear, splintered through his mental abuse of himself. "What are we doing back here? I thought we were trying to get away."  
  
"We were, Kätzchen - I mean, we are! But that.... that.... *thing* has forced us back here somehow. It's been shepherding us this whole time."  
  
"Oh gods." Her words came out as a strangled whisper. She was obviously utterly terrified, but trying her best not to show it.   
  
Kurt's jaw set. Things looked bad, but he wasn't going to crumble. She needed him to be strong. She needed him to be there for her. She needed him....  
  
A deafening roar gashed the night air. Kurt spun round and tackled Kitty roughly to the ground. She lay there, all the wind knocked from her lungs and Kurt lying beside her, golden eyes wide and darting about. His nose wrinkled as he scented for their pursuer, but the water made it difficult to trace. Everything smelled the same - washed out and tinctured with mud and blood. He snorted as these foul stenches filled his nostrils. Blood. Soil. Dank. Wet. Where was that thing anyway? He hadn't heard a splash as it entered the water, but sound was no indication with this beast. It was clever. The absence of scent told him it was masking itself somehow, and the river seemed the obvious answer. Then again, the Displacer Beast had already proven that he should expect the unexpected from it. The obvious answer was no ally any more.  
  
Kurt leaned towards Kitty and whispered softly into her ear; "Try to crawl away underneath the bracken. Be careful not to make any noise or sudden movements." He didn't tell her that he still wasn't sure of its position, and she - as he'd intended - took his plan to mean that he knew where it was and so they were edging away from it.  
  
Almost soundlessly they crept under the hanging fronds of bracken, all but holding their breath so as not to make a noise. Kitty's lungs burned, but she forced herself to take small, quiet breaths instead of the long shuddering gasps they demanded.   
  
One side of Kurt's waist ached unbearably where the Displacer Beast's jaws had clamped around him. His fur had acted as a barrier against its sharp teeth, but he was badly bruised, and winced every time the muscles there contracted. Gritting his teeth, he struggled onwards.  
  
They'd gone but a few feet when the undergrowth in front of them was suddenly ripped aside by a massive paw, to be replaced by the snarling maw and jagged fangs of the waiting Displacer Beast. Kitty, who was slightly in front of Kurt, felt its hot breath on her face, and was unable to contain herself any longer. She screamed, throwing herself backwards away from the creature. Kurt yelped as she cannoned into him, jolting his bruised side.  
  
The beast glared at them from where it stood, saliva oozing over its lips. The green eyes narrowed, and it tensed its muscles ready to pounce. Kurt noted its action with alarm.  
  
"Move! Move!" he shouted, scrambling to his feet.  
  
The beast was too fast. It sprang at the slower Kitty, pinning her to the floor with its foremost front claws pressed to her shoulders. She screamed again. A long, panic filled scream that echoed throughout the forest.  
  
Kurt whirled round, gaping in horror at what was happening.   
  
"KITTY!"  
  
He ran back, but before he could reach them one of the Displacer Beast's long tentacles snaked out of the sky and smacked hard against him. Luckily for him, it was the fleshy side that struck him and not the bony spikes, which would have caused much more damage. As it was he was thrown to the ground, winded but otherwise unhurt.  
  
"Ki... Kitty..." Kurt wheezed, unable to catch his breath. He could see her; petrified beneath the creature's feet, blue eyes dominating her skull as she watched its gaping jaws descend upon her. He tried to roll over, but lancing pain shot through his side, and he was suddenly aware of just how much his tail wound was scorching him. "Kit.... ty.... Ki...."  
  
Kitty could only stare as the horrible gleaming teeth came towards her face. A globule of spit splattered on her forehead, and she saw her reflection in the soulless emerald eyelets. Her face was streaked and smeared with mud, and her soggy hair splayed raggedly around her head. An incongruously trivial thought popped into her mind.  
  
~Gods, I look a mess!~  
  
Maybe it was the absurdity of this notion, or maybe it was the incarnate death inches from her head, with all the intents of ripping it off. For whatever reason, something abruptly snapped within Kitty. She felt it acutely, like the tether holding down a frisky horse suddenly parting, leaving it free to do as it wished. An almost tangible sensation inside her of a barrier being broken down. Shattered.   
  
And with the removal of it came anger. Anger at this creature for trying to kill her. Anger at the world for humiliating her in front of Kurt. Anger at the throbbing pain of her wound. Anger at everything that had put her in this situation. Yet also, riding on this anger came a curious apathy. A nothingness deep inside her being. A feeling she instantly recognised and embraced.  
  
All this passed in less than a second, but it was a second that Kurt would remember for the rest of his life. Helplessly he watched as the Displacer Beast closed its jaws around Kitty's skull, bringing its teeth together to slice through her flesh.  
  
"*NO*!" he half screeched, half coughed, but it was no use. All the shouting in the world wouldn't change what had just happened.   
  
His mind froze in horrified shock, and the universe seemed to grind to a juddering halt. His vision sharpened to show everything in horrific, stomach churning clarity. He saw the look of triumph in the Displacer Beast's pupil-less eyes. He saw Kitty's body rise slightly as its teeth found a hold in her. He saw the individual droplets of water fall from her brown hair as it left the ground. He saw her fingers splay and shake in agony. He was seeing her die.  
  
Water collected beneath his eyes, but it wasn't river water. This water stung, prickling the backs of his eyeballs with their salty sorrow. He'd failed her. Just as he'd failed his mother. It was exactly the same. He'd had the power to save her, to do something, but he'd failed. And now she was paying the price for his failure. It was his fault. It was *all* his fault.  
  
"Kätzchen..." he stuttered, voice choked with emotion.  
  
Suddenly, Kitty's body twitched. A look of inhuman surprise crossed the Displacer Beast's face, followed by shock as the limp corpse between its jaws moved. The Changeling's arms braced against the ground, and she pushed herself upright into a sitting position. Up she went, her body passing right through its teeth like they were empty air. With a faint gasp of exertion, her head appeared on the other side of its skull.   
  
It gave a growl of confusion and swung its head from side to side to regain its grip, but instead of resuming its hold, it lost even more of it as Kitty phased through it completely to stand upright and walk away. Just like that. From being a dead body, she calmly got up and walked away. The surprise on the creature's face would have been comical if it hadn't been so ghastly.  
  
Kurt staggered to his feet. "Kitty!" he cried, a mixture of joy and trepidation in his tone. He'd heard stories of the walking dead before.   
  
Yet a single glance at her face told him that she wasn't one of the undead at all. In fact, she was more alive looking than he'd ever seen her. She was actually smiling. He almost laughed. A broad grin split her face; as if escaping from the jaws of death was something she did all the time.   
  
The Displacer Beast shook its head. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Always when it killed its prey, the victim stayed dead. To have one ostensibly resurrect itself was beyond its capacity to conceive. In true animal fashion, and belying its natural intelligence, it decided that this was prey to be ignored. What use was quarry that kept coming back to life? The hunt was only enjoyable if there was blood at the end.  
  
It looked discerningly at the two humanoids. The female was bad prey, but the other one.... It had held the other one between its teeth, Felt him struggle with the fear of having his life snuffed out. This, it knew, was good prey. Prey that would rip and tear easily under fang and claw. Prey that would bleed and cry out. Prey that would die, and stay dead.   
  
Faster than the eye could see, it shook off its confusion and leaped. Kitty turned at its deafening roar, but it wasn't aiming for her, its escaped quarry. The sleek body flew through the air, seeking the blue furred form in front of her. Like some hellish arrow it streaked towards him, fired straight from the bow of the Evil One himself.  
  
There was no time to run. There was no time to dodge. It was too quick, too insufferably fast for that. Even as Kitty whirled round to shout for Kurt to get away, and even as he threw himself to one side to do so, the beast was descending from its leap, snapping jaws wide to catch him and break his feeble body in two. It was no use. Kurt had no phasing powers to rescue him. He had only his speed and nimbleness, which counted for naught when his pursuer was swifter and more agile than he was.   
  
~I'm going to die!~ was all he had time to think, and in that moment there was no doubt in either of their minds that he was indeed about to perish.  
  
"YAAAAAAAH!"  
  
A solid lump of something suddenly crashed into the Displacer Beast mid-jump. The force of the impact sent it off balance, and its course of flight altered so that it landed in an ungainly heap in the bushes to Kurt's left. Wasting no time, he sped away to his right, but chanced a quick look behind him to see what had happened.  
  
What he saw made his jaw drop.  
  
With a grace incompatible to the situation, but totally suited to her form, Rogue landed where the Displacer Beast should have done. Her hood was back, and her hair was mussed where she'd been rudely awoken from sleeping, but her stance was one of someone completely awake and ready to do battle. Her sword was out, and she glared at the panther-like creature as it rolled to its feet, snarling hot liquid death at the person so audacious as to strike at it when it was pouncing on other prey.  
  
Rogue didn't bat an eyelid at the terrible noise. Instead, she twisted her head slightly over one shoulder, never taking her eyes from the brute, and called out:  
  
"Shrimp! Elf! Y'all OK?"  
  
Kitty appeared at Kurt's shoulder, and answered for them both: "Yeah, we're fine."  
  
Rogue nodded grimly. Her green eyes locked onto the Displacer Beast. She'd never seen something so hideously deformed in all her life, but she refused to be cowed. Rather, her gaze held a hint of challenge.  
  
"Careful, Rogue. That thing's like, a Displacer Beast," Kitty called out.  
  
"What?"  
  
"A *Displacer Beast*!"  
  
The ex-assassin narrowed her eyes until they were little more than harsh slits. A Displacer Beast? But they were mountainous creatures. What was one of them doing near the Danub? Hunting hadn't been sparse recently, and that was the only reason they ever ventured away from their fiercely protected territories. It didn't make any sense.  
  
Then it came to her. The Silver Sword had a Displacer Beast. He was famous for it, since he was the only person ever to capture one without being killed in the process. It was his prized possession. Her agile mind made the connection in an instant.  
  
~He must know I'm coming. I suppose he would with his magic and all. That's probably how he sent it here too. The coward's decided to sic his pet on me instead of facing me himself. Lily-livered Pebehock!~  
  
"Fuzzy, Half-Pint, I want you two to get the hell away from here as fast as you can. You hear me? Go."  
  
"But Rogue - " Kurt started to protest.  
  
"Go! It's here for me, not you. You'll have a better chance of escaping if I keep it busy."  
  
"But - " he began again.  
  
"For gods' sakes, will y'all just *GO*!"  
  
Kitty bit her lip. What Rogue said made sense, but something inside the younger girl balked at the idea of leaving her to face such a demonic beast alone - even if she was just some washed up assassin with a grudge against the world.  
  
~Don't be, like, stupid, Kitty!~ she mentally rebuked herself. ~Rogue's, like, a trained fighter. She can handle herself. You'll totally get in her way if you stick around. Plus, you don't even *like* her, remember. Why should you care whether she lives or dies anyway?~  
  
But she did care. It was completely illogical, but a part of Kitty didn't want Rogue to be ripped to shreds by this unholy creature.   
  
Torn between conflicting emotions, Kitty hovered between flight and staying. Her brain told her to run, to get away from there before it was too late. As the resident expert in monsters, she knew all too well the deadly surprises a Displacer Beast kept hidden in its lethal body. Yet some strange, inexorable force kept her rooted to the spot. A small voice at the back of her mind, calling out to her, and growing louder with every passing second. How could she leave Rogue to fight alone? It was cowardly. Displacer Beasts were rare, and few people knew of their secrets. Did the ex-assassin know enough of them to have a chance of winning against it in combat? How could she flee knowing she might be leaving her to certain death? A Displacer Beast's attacks ran to more than just physical blows.  
  
No such inner conflict existed in Kurt. He took a staggering step forward, refusing to abandon the older girl, but his reversed knees buckled, and he would have fallen helplessly to the ground had Kitty not reached out and grabbed him, using her own body to prop him up.  
  
With this the Changeling's mind was made up. "Come on," she mumbled, half dragging Kurt away. He struggled against her, but she tightened her hold of his slender limbs. A gasp of pain brushed his lips as she inadvertently pressed his side, and his struggles ceased as his concentration switched to beating down the agony flaring inside him. Surely a bruise wasn't meant to hurt *this* much?  
  
Rogue didn't even acknowledge them. Her entire focus was on the Displacer Beast, which now stood before her, muscles bunched in a crouch and reptilian tail lashing in eager anticipation. She shifted her grip on her sword handle, preparing for the attack she knew must come. Whatever happened, she wouldn't let this thing get to either the shrimp or the elf. If it were her it had been sent to eliminate, then it would die by her blade, and her blade alone.   
  
Her mind twitched in protest at this strangely protective instinct, but she pushed it away in favour of awaiting the creature's next move. She knew little of Displacer Beasts or their methods of fighting, and needed to keep her entire focus on this one if she was to have any chance of defeating it.  
  
~Trust the Silver Sword to send something I don't know much about,~ she thought grimly.  
  
For its part, the Displacer Beast just stared at the girl. It recognised the odd, bicoloured hair and curious apparel from the images implanted into its mind by the one who had imprisoned it. The one audacious enough to call himself master, but would never truly be master of the Displacer Beast. It hated him with a vengeance, but even *it* could not resist the orders he'd magically embedded into its brain. They appealed to its natural instincts to hunt and kill, turning them upon themselves so that it would dispose of the target set by this 'master'.  
  
A bestial expression akin to a smile briefly crossed its features. The other two squealing humanoids had been a delightful distraction, but now it had no more use for them. They could go. It was finished with their pitiful screams and attempts at resistance. Now it had found its true target. The one it had been sent to destroy. The one that promised a real fight.  
  
Now was the time for blood.  
  
Without warning it leaped. Rogue dodged, throwing her sword sideways in order to catch it as it careened past, but the creature checked its jump and altered direction to slam into Rogue, avoiding the blade and knocking her from her feet. With a precision born of years of harsh training, Rogue fell into a roll and leapt upright again. However, when she turned to face it, the creature was gone. Melted into the undergrowth where it could attack from any side without being detected.   
  
She cursed under her breath. That had been sloppy. She was lucky to be alive right now after a mistake like that. She listened intently to any noise that might illustrate where the Displacer Beast was hiding, and whirled round at a small sound behind her. Her brows knitted in fury when she saw what had caused it.  
  
"You two? I thought I told y'all to get lost. What are y'all doing here?"   
  
Kurt and Kitty looked sheepish from where they stood a few feet away. Despite all variances, they hadn't been able to just abandon their comrade to a beast that could so easily slay her.   
  
"We couldn't leave you," Kurt piped up, "This is our fight too."  
  
"Oh for crying out loud!" Rogue angrily exclaimed. "Will y'all stop it with the nobler-than-thou crap? This *ain't* your fight, it's mine. The Silver Sword knows I'm coming, and he's made the first move by releasing this thing. *I'm* the one it was sent here to kill, so *I'm* gonna be the one to take care of it, understand? Now get outta here before I kill you both myself!"  
  
Kitty gnawed at her lower lip. She didn't particularly like Rogue, but that was no excuse to just ditch the violent female when she probably didn't know what she was getting herself into.   
  
~After all,~ she reasoned with the part of herself that wanted to run away to safety, ~She did, like, save my life when I was falling off that building in Zanninsa. I guess I should, like, return the favour.~  
  
"No, you don't know what you're dealing with," she rejoined flatly.   
  
"The teeth and claws of a really pissed off monster," Rogue tersely replied. She was in no mood to have her orders ignored, and politeness was very low down on her list of priorities. Didn't these two realize how stupid they were being? She was giving them a chance to escape, and they were throwing it away to stay with her. It was irrational. Idiotic.  
  
Kitty shook her head. "No, you don't understand. There's more to it than that. A Displacer Beast is called that for a *reason*. Plus the spikes on its tentacles are filled with - "  
  
Her sage words were cut off as a loud snarl signified the reappearance of the beast in question. It burst from the undergrowth to their left, and Rogue barely had time to raise her arms to shield her face before it crashed into her, using the momentum of its leap to carry them several feet, over the side of the riverbank and into the water of the Danub itself. They vanished in a flurry of bubbles, and both Kurt and Kitty rushed to the edge to see what was going on.  
  
The liquid churned with an unseen tussle. Through the froth it was impossible to determine who was winning, and they could only hope that their companion was holding her own against the fearsome onslaught of the panther-like animal. Haltingly the clump of bubbles moved further out, as if the combatants and their fight were travelling beneath the surface.  
  
These bubbles became fewer and fewer as the minutes crept passed, and a stark, cold hand of dread enclosed both Kurt and Kitty's hearts as they did so. Despite everything, Rogue was merely human, and humans could only survive underwater for a short amount of time. Time that was rapidly running out.   
  
Three minutes passed, then four. The thrashing-induced foam all but disappeared. Surely she couldn't last much longer? She had to come up for air soon, or else....  
  
Or else....  
  
'Or else' was something neither teenager wanted to consider, but it pushed its way into their contemplations regardless. As the last few bubbles popped and no replacements were forthcoming from the depths the hand of dread extended around their lungs and tightened, making their breath come in short, horrified gasps. She had to surface soon, didn't she?  
  
Didn't she?  
  
Oh gods, what if she didn't come up? What then?  
  
No, that was stupid. Of course she was going to resurface. She was The Rogue. A master of survival. The one who'd thwarted the very Guild of Assassins itself to stay alive. Indestructible. Unyielding.   
  
But what if....  
  
Suddenly the darker water several metres out exploded as Rogue's head broke the surface. Her mouth was open wide, gasping for life-giving air, and a thin cut traced across one cheek, leaking blood into the river. Her hair was plastered to her skull, making her almost unrecognisable, and the pair onshore watched as she sank down again into the much deeper water, arms flailing helplessly, her sword still clutched valiantly in one hand.  
  
At once Kurt realised what was wrong.  
  
"Her armour!" he yelled. "It's weighing her down!"  
  
And it was. Desperately the ex-assassin strove to keep her head above water, but always the burdensome metal encasing her body pulled her beneath the surface of the choking fluid. Slowly but surely, and without any help from the seemingly-vanished Displacer Beast, Rogue was drowning.  
  
"We have to help her!" the furry boy shouted. "We have to do something!"  
  
"What?" Kitty asked commonsensically.  
  
Kurt threw up his oddly shaped hands. "I don't know. Just.... something! She's going to die if we don't help her somehow."  
  
"But what should we do? She's too heavy for us to pull out alone."   
  
Yet in the end, despite Kurt's intentions to aid her, Rogue's head - and indeed, the rest of her, too - left the water by itself. Or so it seemed.   
  
With a 'whoosh' of spray, the Displacer Beast swam beneath the girl, powering up from below and smashing into her. The force of the blow lifted her clean out of the river, and sent her body spinning like a broken ragdoll through the air.  
  
"Rogue!" the two onlookers cried out in unison.  
  
She splashed down nearer the shore, where the water was shallow enough for her feet to touch the bottom without submerging her head. However, for a few moments she was incapable of doing more than kneeling. All the wind had been savagely crushed from her lungs, and she struggled for breath as the Displacer Beast no doubt prepared for another attack.   
  
Rogue spat liquid from her mouth. It was red with blood. Damn thing! It had the advantage in the water, whereas her armour made her cumbersome here. Logic dictated that she had to get it onto shore to even the playing field.   
  
She straightened up, casting about for any sign of the beast. The river's surface was glassy and smooth, only broken much further out where the current tugged beneath it. Damnit, where was that thing?  
  
With a high-pitched squeal it ruptured the water again directly in front of her. On instinct Rogue thrust her sword forward, and struck home when it impaled the creature's throat. A small grunt of triumph snorted from her nose, and her mouth twisted into a grim smile.  
  
Yet this smile quickly vanished. Something was wrong. Yes, the sword had pierced the soft flesh of the Displacer Beast's neck, but there was no blood. In fact, the creature didn't even seem to have acknowledged the blade, and snarled at her savagely. Rogue blinked, perplexed. It should be dying, run through by cold steel, but still it lived, and with apparently no damage done at all.  
  
Kitty called out from behind her. It was just as she'd feared, Rogue didn't know of the Displacer Beast's capabilities and tactics.  
  
"Rogue, that's not the real Displacer Beast! That's just an image it's created to, like, confuse you! *That's* what I was trying to tell you. It can, like, project copies of itself to confound its enemies whilst it attacks from somewhere else!"  
  
Kurt turned to her, horrified. "You mean it could be *anywhere* right now?"  
  
~Yept!~ Rogue thought, wrenching her blade free. The false beast began to evaporate, proving Kitty's words, but before the ex-assassin could do anything, the air behind her, between herself and her two onlookers, shimmered, and the real Displacer Beast emerged from its holographic shield to pounce upon her back, forcing her face down into the water.  
  
"Rogue!" Kurt shouted, and before Kitty could do anything he'd leaped from a standing start on the bank to land squarely astride the monster's back. It roared, enraged, and threw back its head to dislodge him. Yet Kurt remained firm, holding onto the bases of the massive tentacles to keep from falling off.  
  
"Kitty!" he yelled. "Get to Rogue!"  
  
Wordlessly, the Changeling did as she was bade. She jumped into the shallows, splashing to the head of the flailing beast whilst it was preoccupied with its unwelcome rider. She knelt down next to where Rogue thrashed, half submerged in the cruel liquid, and reached down to grab the girl's free hand. Then she reached inside herself, past the broken mental barrier to where the nothingness resided. Down into the very core of her power. She grasped it firmly with mental fingers, calling upon it to do her bidding and rise to the surface. She'd never called upon it this way before. It had always just appeared unannounced when she needed it, but something about that snapping she'd felt inside her earlier prompted her to try. She tugged and pulled, embracing and merging with it until it consumed her entire body with its heady emptiness.   
  
With a faint 'schlock' Rogue passed right through the Displacer Beast's claws and materialized out of the water, coughing and spluttering mud from her mouth. The two girls fell backwards, creating another, bigger splash.  
  
This enraged the Displacer Beast. Not only did this furry little insect insist on perching atop its back, but now its true prey had escaped as well. Howling its fury, it snaked both tentacles down through the air towards Kurt, bending them further than they were meant to be bent, but ignoring the self-inflicted pain to rid itself of him.  
  
Kurt saw them coming, and forcibly threw himself from the creature less than a second before they hit. He landed with his customary sure-footedness and grabbed Rogue's arm, propping her upright with Kitty doing the same on the other side. All Rogue could do was splutter and heave, and the two dragged her with them towards the shoreline.  
  
Free of its visitor, the Displacer Beast whirled round and lunged at them, but Kitty allowed it to pass straight through their bodies by calling again upon her Changeling power. It sailed past, snarling all the way, and whipped round to lunge again, with exactly the same results.  
  
However, Kitty couldn't keep this up forever. She was too new to consciously controlling her power, and for that reason her strength was rapidly failing. She flagged, and her steps became laboured as she fought to keep hold of the nothingness in her mind. Her teeth gritted, her jaw set, but it began to slip away from her, leaving them open and vulnerable.  
  
"Kurt," she choked, "Kurt, I can't hold it."  
  
Rogue gasped beside her, and violently pulled herself free of their well-meaning embrace. "Then don't!" she spat, turning back upon the growling beast.  
  
Kurt whirled to catch hold of her, but she shook him off. "Rogue, bitte, we have to get away."  
  
"To where?" she shot back, holding her sword forward in both hands. "This thing will follow us no matter where we go, elf. It was sent to kill me, and it won't stop until either it, or I die. No, it ends here. Right now."  
  
"Rogue - " Kitty verbally supported the cerulean youth.  
  
"I appreciate what you both did for me just now, so that's why I'm telling you to leave while you still can," Rogue cut her off, and began running forward towards the glaring monster.   
  
Her rarely given, but transmuted thanks hung thick in the damp night air.  
  
"Rogue!" Kurt yelled.  
  
Kitty stared. Rogue was going to be killed. She couldn't defeat that thing alone. She just couldn't! The brown haired girl called out for her to stop, to turn back and run with them, but even as she opened her mouth she knew that it was useless. Rogue wasn't the type to just give up and run away if there was even a slight chance of success. She'd fight until she drew her last breath, and then some.  
  
Proving Kitty's thoughts, Rogue launched herself at the Displacer Beast, slicing her sword down in a graceful arc. It cleaved through the creature's head, but the absence of blood told her that this was an empty victory.  
  
~Yept! Another false image!~  
  
Something solid slammed into her, knocking her sideways. Rogue stumbled but kept her feet, whirling round to face her attacker. There was nothing there. The beast was using its holographic shield to conceal itself again, and Rogue was left at its mercy as she desperately tried to tell where the next assault was coming from.  
  
A flicker caught her eye, like the air to her left was shimmering. Faster than anyone could see she turned and plunged forward, bringing her blade up to cleave through where she hoped the monster was hiding. A pained screech announced that her blow had hit home, and a spurt of red blood erupted from the ostensibly empty air.  
  
Rogue jumped back, and saw that the end of her weapon too was smeared with crimson. It dripped off into the water, but she hardly noticed as the Displacer Beast reappeared before her.  
  
With grim satisfaction Rogue noted that only five paws now graced its slender body. The foremost right had been completely severed by her lucky blow, and only a large red mist in the river water signified its final resting place.   
  
Enraged and in pain the beast wasted no time in leaping at her. Rogue brought her blade up above her head to strike it in mid-air, but at that moment it demonstrated its natural cruel cunning again.  
  
Rather than do as most injured and angry animals would have done and simply fly blindly at the ex-assassin, the Displacer Beast shrewdly landed just in front of her, avoiding the blade meant for it. It crouched, swinging its two tentacles low to knock her feet out from under her with a resounding splash. Rogue pitched backwards into the shallow water.  
  
Raising its injured leg to keep it clear of the combat, the creature then leapt onto her before she had time to right herself, burying its savage teeth into her sword-wielding arm. Rogue cried out in pain and blindly threw her other fist upwards where it connected with the side of the beast's skull. This dislodged its grip slightly - enough so that it was unable to simply rip her limb off - but not enough to remove it completely. It growled through a mouthful of flesh and fabric.  
  
Rogue called upon the training inlaid into her during years of tutelage under Logan. Her conscious mind stepped back and allowed her instincts to kick in - quite literally. Bringing both legs up to her chest, the girl struck out hard with both feet. Her boots met the Displacer Beast's gut, winding it and causing it to open its maw and scream in pain. A loud crack rent the air as she kicked again and several ribs snapped on impact. In that precious free second Rogue rolled away and jumped into a fighting stance once more.  
  
However, now she was badly injured too. The hand gripping her sword was weak and flaccid, and blood ran down her arm where the muscles had been torn. Deftly she transferred the blade to her other hand, but was aware that now she was at even more of a disadvantage. It was not that she couldn't fight with her left hand - Logan had made sure she could at the beginning of her training - but it was considerably less dexterous than her right, and the power behind her blows was weaker as a result.  
  
The hurt monster coughed and heaved as pain cut into its chest. Damn human! She'd pay for that with her life!  
  
It ran forward, but curiously did not attack Rogue again. Instead it sprinted past her to the deeper water further out and plunged into the depths in a flurry of spray. Rogue turned, but it did not resurface, and soon the bubbles of its departure dissipated, leaving only the calm, fraudulently smooth surface.  
  
Rogue didn't relax. She knew this wasn't the end. The Displacer Beast wasn't retreating, no matter what things may look like. It was planning something. The question was, what?  
  
Kitty and Kurt stood on the shore where they'd clambered out. They too wondered what new scheme the horrendous creature was plotting, and two extra pairs of eyes relentlessly scanned the river in search of some clue to aid their battling companion with.   
  
Suddenly, Kurt yelled out a warning: "Rogue, behind you!"  
  
Rogue whipped around to see the snarling jaws descending on her. Deftly she swung her sword round, and was rewarded with it sinking into the Displacer Beast's neck; but with her strike the beast evaporated.   
  
A holographic image!  
  
There was no time to curse now though, because another beast was advancing to her right. Rogue spun on her heel and struck low, cutting the legs out from underneath it. Yet this one too vanished, only to be replaced with a panther-like form charging in from her left.   
  
Rogue became a veritable vortex of swinging cuts and flashing metal, but all to no avail as the army of Displacer Beasts kept on coming, but no original was obliging enough to show itself.  
  
Kurt's hands bunched into fists. "It's trying to tire her out so it can finish her off easily," he muttered heatedly.  
  
"We.... we have to help her," said Kitty, taking a step forward. However, the Changeling's strength was almost completely spent. Drained by her powers until she could barely stand up. Kurt grabbed her, helping her to maintain her feet.  
  
~But what can we do?~ he asked himself. ~What can *anyone* do against a creature like that?~  
  
Rogue was beginning to weary. Three days long trek with only snatches of sleep hadn't prepared her for a fight like this, and the Displacer Beast's tactics were working. Her rain of blows became steadily weaker, and her whirling turns slower as she faced each new beast, hoping it was the real one. She couldn't carry like this much longer.  
  
"Rogue, above you!" The elf's voice flew into her ear, and she jerked her sword vertical to impale another image that would have landed atop her if he hadn't cried out.   
  
~No, I can't give up,~ she admonished herself for her weakness. ~Those two are counting on me. I can't let them down. I *won't* let them down!~  
  
This unusually caring thought lent new energy to her failing limbs, and Rogue fought with a potent new vigour.  
  
Yet even this wasn't enough to protect her from what happened next. A long writhing tentacle blasted from the water at her feet, wrapping itself tight around her legs and hauling her bodily into the air. She hung, upside down, as the rest of the real Displacer Beast emerged from the river, snarling its certain victory through glinting fangs.   
  
Cold, blank eyes glared at its victim, and it began to shake her forcefully from side to side. Rogue tried desperately to hang on, but the power of the shaking made her lose her already inferior grip of her sword, and it fell uselessly into the water below.   
  
Unarmed now, she dangled helplessly, a prisoner of the monster's lethal grasp.  
  
The bestial grin returned to its hideous face, and it hissed menacingly at her. Rogue drooped, her cloak flapping about her head and the material copiously leaking both water and blood. She had nowhere to go, no way of escaping from the terrible appendage holding her fast. Her eyes closed in apparent defeat, and her muscles visibly relaxed.  
  
Kitty and Kurt watched all this through dismayed eyes.   
  
"*ROGUE*!"  
  
The Displacer Beast pulled the limp body close, opening salivating jaws wide to bite into the vulnerable flesh. It had won, and now it would claim its prize.  
  
Abruptly, and without warning, Rogue snapped from her defeated trance, bending almost double and yanking the dagger from her belt. A flash of silver and a scream of inhuman anguish crammed the night atmosphere, and Rogue dropped into the river, closely followed by a several tentacle. The appendage flopped and fought for several seconds before falling still, blood oozing plentifully from where it had been attached to its owner.  
  
Kurt couldn't suppress a triumphant shout at this turn of events, and he punched the air with his uninhibited hand. Kitty lent her own pleased voice to his clamour, and they cheered Rogue gleefully on from the sidelines. As unlikely as it had seemed before, now it appeared that Rogue *could* actually win this battle.  
  
However, the Displacer Beast was not done yet - not by a long shot. With cold shrewdness it regarded the gasping human. She held in her hand only a bloodied dagger, hardly enough to pose much of a threat. Her sword was nowhere to be seen, and it knew she couldn't afford to waste precious time searching for it in the churned, swarthy mud of the riverbed. It narrowed its calculating green eyes.  
  
Rogue's arm was on fire, but she dared not let it show. To show weakness was to give an enemy an opening. So instead she slowly circled the Displacer Beast, as did it her, neither attacking nor retreating, and each glowering at the other with the same ruthlessly defiant gaze. A low growl seeped from the creature's gullet, but the girl remained silent, watching....  
  
Abruptly, the Displacer Beast bounded forward, twirling back on itself mere yards away to smack her with its reptilian tail. Rogue flew through the air, surprised at the strength in such a slender thing. She somersaulted, landing on her feet and rushing back at it in a counter attack. It leaped quickly away, and she stabbed only vacant air.   
  
Undeterred, Rogue sped forwards again, thrusting her dagger in front of her in an offensive action. With one fluid movement, the Displacer Beast turned and leaped lightly over her head, coming to rest behind her and swinging one tentacle and one bloody stump her way.  
  
This time Rogue wasn't so lucky. The bony ridge of the last remaining tentacle caught her sharply on her shoulder, burying several of its wicked spikes into the soft flesh beneath her collarbone. She yelled loudly at the stinging blow, but was silenced when the momentum of it crushed her into the water on her belly. A flurry of mud, water and scarlet liquid rent the air, and when it cleared she lay unmoving, prone. No bubbles of life surrounded her submerged face, and her body was limp as the faint current tugged gently at her drifting hair. She was inert. Lifeless.  
  
Kitty's hands flew to cover her mouth. "Oh no!"  
  
The Displacer Beast crept forward, wary that this could be another ruse to make it drop its guard. Yet when no movement ensued from the fallen human, its step quickened, and a sense of triumph filled its twisted mind. On five paws it edged towards her, spittle dripping from its maw in anticipation. The smell of her blood filled its nostrils, and it drank deeply of the wondrous flavour.  
  
Finally, unable to wait any longer, the creature pressed forward, sniffing delicately at the corpse and wrinkling its nose as the glorious scent of fresh meat acted like a pungent drug upon it. From the dawn of time Displacer Beast's had sought that intoxicating scent, and yearned after it every day of their lives. It invaded their sleep and their waking dreams alike, forcing them to hunt and kill just for a hint of it. As gold is to greedy men, so blood is to the Displacer Beast, and all other creatures like them.  
  
As is customary to all its kind, the Displacer Beast positioned itself above Rogue's head ready to consume the flavoursome contents of her mind first. With one uninjured paw it turned her slightly in order to get a better grip, and bent its face to crack open and devour her.  
  
At once, dark green eyes flipped open, and the 'carcass' rolled over to fling one of its hands ferociously upwards. The emerald eyes of the Displacer Beast widened in shock and pain, and a loud squeal pierced the air as it stumbled backwards.   
  
Its mouth gaped. A trickle of blood appeared at the corner and another dribbled out of its quivering snout. It snorted, sending droplets of red flying everywhere. Pupil-less eyes met with defiantly triumphant green, and it blinked once before keeling over onto its side.   
  
The beast thrashed wildly for a minute or so, and then fell into convulsive twitching. Eventually, this too ceased, and it finally slumped in death, the handle of a dagger still protruding from where it had pierced its heart.  
  
The world was immediately silent, as if commemorating this creature who had passed so suddenly, and so violently from it. A gentle breeze buffeted the Displacer Beast, but the staring eyes didn't flicker, and the mammoth form remained still, unconcerned now with mortal pursuits. A deathly hush descended over everything, until even the multitudes of dancing insects were quiet.  
  
This reverent taciturnity was broken as Rogue hauled herself to her feet. She shook herself slightly, spitting evil tasting mud and blood from her mouth. Slowly she began her journey back to shore, pausing only to retrieve the dagger secreted so precisely in her conquered adversary. A gush of red followed its removal, spraying her already filthy face with yet more sticky liquid. She didn't bother to wipe it off, and replaced the blade uncleaned in her belt. Then she crouched down, running her fingers through the riverbed until she found what she was looking for, and continued back to the embankment, her sword clasped tightly in one hand.  
  
Kitty and Kurt cried their delight at her victory, and rushed gleefully to the edge of the bank. Their visages split into wide grins as they prepared to welcome back their conquering companion, who had found victory where they'd thought she would only find defeat. Snatched it quite literally from the jaws of failure. Both marvelled verbosely at her prowess as a fighter, and shouted such compliments to her as she walked towards them.  
  
However, almost immediately they noticed that something was wrong, and their greetings died on their lips as they regarded her approach. Rogue's steps held none of their usual haughty pride. Instead, they were imbued with a strange tiredness. Her movements were listless - strained; as if it was all just too much effort. She walked slowly, and her face betrayed no trace of having just won out over an ostensibly unconquerable foe. Rather, it seemed that all her concentration was taken by simply putting one foot in front of the other.  
  
Suddenly she stopped. Her body began to tremble uncontrollably, and without so much as another sound she slumped limply into the water.  
  
"ROGUE!" Kurt yelled, unhesitatingly jumping into the river. The water was freezing against his already cold bare chest, but he hardly perceived it as he ran towards the collapsed girl.   
  
She didn't move as he drew near, and not even her eyes flickered as he pulled her upright. Her face was drawn and even paler than usual, and threads of purple veins were stark through the near-translucent membrane of her eyelids. She seemed ghostly and defenceless - not at all like herself. Something was most definitely extremely wrong with her.   
  
Frantically, Kurt pulled her as best he could back to shore, slipping and sliding in the mud until he was covered in the tacky substance. She was heavy because of her armour and limpness, but he struggled on regardless, dragging her to the bank where Kitty waited, ready to help pull her onto dry land despite her own fading strength.  
  
They lay Rogue flat, and Kurt danced about her worriedly, hopping from foot to foot. His tail lashed incessantly, and he gabbled: "What's wrong? Was ist los? She looks dead. She seemed fine only a moment ago. Oh Rogue, what's the matter? Get up, please get up."  
  
Kitty hovered her ear close to the ashen girl's face. Breath blew into her earlobe, but it was harsh and shallow. Rogue was alive, but barely. Her skin had taken on a ghastly pallor, and when the younger girl pressed a hand to her forehead she found it startlingly clammy, sticky rather than wet, and hot.   
  
On impulse, remembering something her mother had told her years ago, Kitty pulled back a lock of saturated hair from where it was plastered to Rogue's neck. What she saw made her gasp in dismay.  
  
Three short, white, bramble-like spikes were imbedded in the malleable skin there, roughly broken off at each of their bases. The flesh around them was a puffy, blotchy red, and one could almost feel the heat being given off without having to touch it.  
  
Kurt peered over Kitty's shoulder. "What? What is it? What are those things?"  
  
"Those are spikes from the Displacer Beast's tentacle," Kitty replied sombrely. "That's what I was trying to warn her about. Oh, Rogue."  
  
"Was?" Kurt was perplexed. "Warn her? What do you mean, Kätzchen? What's happened to Rogue? What's wrong with her?"  
  
Kitty turned soulful blue eyes upon him, and Kurt was shocked to see tears in them. "Those spikes are filled with lethal venom, Kurt. She's been poisoned."  
  
"Poisoned?" Kurt was aghast. "Then we have to get them out!" He dived forward, but Kitty stayed his hand.  
  
"Don't! You might do more harm than good if you just, like, yank them out."  
  
Kurt fell back, abashed. "But what should we do then? The poison will kill her if we don't do something. She saved our lives. What should we do, Kätzchen? You know about these things. What should we *do*?" This couldn't be happening. This was Rogue. Indestructible, insuperable Rogue.  
  
Kitty turned away, wiping her eyes on the tattered sleeve of his baggy shirt. "I don't know, Kurt," she said haltingly. "I just don't know."  
  
*******************  
  
To Be Continued.....  
  
*******************  
  
  
*TRANSLATIONS*   
  
GERMANIC:  
  
'Was habe ich jetzt getan?' ~ What did I now do?   
'Ich bin solch ein Idiot!' ~ I am such an idiot!  
'Ich sollte gewußt haben.' ~ I should have known. 


	10. The Temple of The Way

DISCLAIMER: X-Men: Evo belongs to Warner Bros. And Marvel Comics. I have never, and shall never own them, no matter how much I may want to. I've simply warped them to fit my own twisted mind. However, this fic and any original work herein is officially mine, and anyone trying to steal it will find out how painful a weapon a computer mouse can when used by someone with imagination.  
  
WARNINGS: This is an AU (Alternative Universe) fic. Everything has been transplanted into a fantasy universe of my creation. Inspirations, despite what you might initially think, aren't actually from a certain Peter-Jackson-esque film project, since I started work on this before I ever *saw* those movies. Influences rather include InterNutter's spiffy fic 'Mein Teuful' (if you haven't yet read this then go do it *now*!) and various other sources I'll explain later.  
  
CODES:   
Hello = Narration  
~ Hello ~ = Thought  
"Hello" = Character Speaking  
*Hello* = Bold  
//Hello// = Psychic communication  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okey-dokey then. Did everybody have a good Christmas? Thanks to a very well chosen present from my mother, I'm now obsessed with the manga 'Sorcerer Hunters', and loving every minute of it. January can't come soon enough for Chapter 13, even if it does mean my exams lumber up, too!   
  
This instalment of OBAB took me a while to tweak because my muse has been fighting me for a while. Pretty much ever since InterNutter's site went down, actually. But anyway, it's here now; so I'll shut up and let you get on with reading it. Once again, thanks to everyone who reviewed last time, and I hope you can find it in your hearts to do it again this time around, as well. art is still greatly welcomed, and for anybody who's even remaotely interested, the fanfic challenge I launched not so long ago *is* still running. Just post any entries here at ff..net until further notice about a finishing date, or, failing that, send them to me and I'll post them for you if there's a problem. Remember, there's a prize involved courtesy of moi, so go on, you *know* you want to enter. ^_^  
  
*******************  
  
'Of Beast And Blade' By Scribbler  
Chapter Eight ~ 'The Temple of The Way'  
  
*******************  
  
'In helping others, we shall help ourselves, for whatever good we give out completes the circle and comes back to us' -- Flora Edwards  
  
*******************  
  
Kurt sank to his knees, then onto his tail with a soft 'flumph'. He barely even noticed the pain from both ends of the dexterous appendage - the tip where the skin was torn and bleeding from the Displacer Beast's teeth, and the base where he'd sat on it at a painful angle. His hands draped uselessly on the damp, churned ground, and his mouth moved ceaselessly in an inaudible plea.  
  
"No. Oh gods, please no. Not again. Bitte, don't let it happen again. Please, no."  
  
Kitty sat, wide-eyed, at a loss for what to do. She stared at Rogue. The older girl lay unresponsively, her pallid skin nearing translucency. Now and then her eyelids flickered, but this hopeful sign was kowtowed by an accompanying gasp as poison slowly seeped around her system and constricted her lungs.  
  
The young Changeling's mind was a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions.  
  
~What *do* we do? I've never dealt with poison before. Oh, Rogue, please.... please don't die.~   
  
Her mind immediately snapped back on itself at this request. ~Why am I pleading for her life? She's The Rogue. An assassin. A trained murderer! She tried to *kill* me before.~ She bit her lip. ~But then again, she, like, saved me too when I was falling off that building. And now she defended me and Kurt against the Displacer Beast. So should I be, like, upset that she's hurt or.... or pleased? This is too confusing. I don't know what to think. I don't know what to *do*! I don't know what to *DO*!~  
  
Confused tears pricked at the backs of her eyeballs as despair and gladness warred behind her eyes. She drew her knees up to her chin - for all the world like a frightened child - wrapping Kurt's overly large shirt around her nude body as best she could, and shivering in the stark, cold moonlight.  
  
The trio stayed this way for several minutes, both cognisant teenagers lost in their own mixtures of prayers and remonstrations. Finally, the tense silence was broken when Rogue emitted a low groan of pain that found a voice even through the barriers of unconsciousness that held her.  
  
Kurt's head snapped up. "We have to get help," he stated at last.  
  
Kitty looked up at him, blue eyes large. "But from where? If you hadn't noticed, we're, like, in the middle of nowhere."  
  
"I.... I don't know. But we have to so *something*. It's not going to do anybody any good just sitting here. Especially with that thing still around." He gestured out into the river where the Displacer Beast corpse lay, all but consumed by the darkness. "We have to at least *try* to find help for her. She'll.... She'll die for sure if we don't."  
  
"But where should we go?"   
  
Kurt had to admit it was a valid question. Where did they start? They were miles from any city or town that might possess a healer, and neither he nor Kitty had any inkling as to where they should go to find an independent one who may be closer. He opened his mouth, and then shut it again in the manner of a fish, all words escaping him as he mentally sought for an answer to give the expectant girl.   
  
For so long now Rogue had been their unofficial 'leader'. The two meeker adolescents had followed her for various, oft-conflicting reasons, but now she was no longer capable of giving directions they were marooned on an island of indecision in a sea of uncertainty. Now more than ever they needed a guiding light, but it appeared that the one they'd come to rely on was about to be snuffed out, and there was nothing they could do about it.  
  
Nothing.  
  
//Follow the river.//  
  
Kurt jerked as if bitten. What was that?  
  
//Follow the river downstream.//  
  
A voice. He thought he heard a voice. Yet Kitty showed no signs of noticing it. Rather, she seemed genuinely puzzled at his sudden jolt.  
  
//Follow the river and you will find what you seek.//  
  
There it was again, but it was strange. He couldn't hear it through his ears. Instead, it seemed to be coming from *inside* his mind.   
  
He shook his head. What a foolish notion. Voices inside his head?  
  
Then again, so much had been strange to him of late. So many new creatures and experiences he'd erstwhile only committed to storybooks and fairy-tales. Chimeras, Wolverinnen, Displacer Beasts - why should a voice speaking inside his head not fall into the same bizarre category?   
  
//Why not indeed?//   
  
He jumped again, eliciting another curious glance from Kitty.  
  
~Who are you?~ his internal thoughts piped up.  
  
//A friend. That's all you need to know at present,// the strange silent-voice replied.  
  
~How do I know I can trust you?~  
  
//You don't. But what other option do you have?//  
  
That was true enough.   
  
Kurt heaved a deep sigh. "We'll follow the riverbank and see what happens," he said firmly: more decisively than he felt.  
  
"But - " Kitty began. However, Kurt held up one tridactyl hand to silence her.  
  
"Just....trust me on this one, Kätzchen. I have a feeling." He spread his arms wide. "Besides, what other options do we have?"  
  
She looked as if she were about to protest again, but then dumbly nodded. "How do we move her?" Common sense shone through the haze of emotions cluttering her brain.  
  
Kurt scratched his furry blue head. "I guess we should remove her armour first. That way one of us can carry her, whilst the other carries the metal. We'll be a lot faster that way."  
  
Awkwardly, and rather inexpertly, the pair proceeded to remove the metal protection encasing their companion. Worry made their fingers clumsier than usual, as did the pressure of her running out of time, but soon the steel garments were gone, and between them they divided the chores that accompanied their preferred course of action. It was decided that Kitty would transport the armour, whilst Kurt - being more sure-footed - bore Rogue herself.   
  
The ensuing journey along the edge of the Danub was arduous to say the least, but the atypical duo battled on regardless. They carefully avoided any patch of land that looked even slightly unstable or dangerous, aware of their precious burden and how cautious they must be now they were completely responsible for her well-being. It was odd to think how, not long ago, they wouldn't have cared what happened to her, but now found themselves protecting Rogue like she actually meant something to them.   
  
At last they reached a fork in the river. The waterway branched off in two separate directions - one to the sea, and the other, smaller stream ran off inland, far into the distance until it was lost from view. Here they paused, weary and unsure of their next move.   
  
Kitty looked expectantly to Kurt, and he in turn wondered if the bizarre voice in his head would help them again, or whether he was just going mad and sending them on a deadly wild-goose-chase. He chanced a look at Rogue. She couldn't afford games of that sort.  
  
However, his luck held out.   
  
//Travel the path of the smaller fork,// the voice said smoothly. //And no, you're not going insane, and this is most definitely *not* a wild-goose-chase.//  
  
"This way." Kurt started off down the commanded route, Kitty trailing dutifully behind him.   
  
A thousand and one questions burned in the brown-haired girl's mind, but she kept her tongue and allowed Kurt to concentrate - although how he knew where to go was still a mystery to her. The heavy armour kept her occupied most of the time, but often an errant question would find its way to her lips, and she'd have to bite it back before it escaped into the open air.  
  
~Trust him, Kitty,~ she reminded herself. ~Just, like, have faith in him. He's never steered you wrong before, has he?~  
  
Eventually the forest petered out into a sparsely grassed plain. The land became hilly, punctuated here and there by large swelling ridges and rocky outcrops. These caused havoc for the two teenagers' weary legs, but neither of them offered any complaint. Somehow, Rogue's fate made their own problems seen insignificant and petty, and they were loath to admit to their own shortcomings in the face of what she'd done to end up in her current situation.   
  
Kitty puffed and panted as they climbed what seemed to be the millionth embankment, slipping a bit under her intense load. Rogue was a considerably hardier individual than she, and consequently the armour was proving quite a strain for the younger female to carry, especially in her already-weakened condition.   
  
Kurt glanced back at her, taking in her reddened face and harsh breathing with worried golden eyes. It wouldn't do them any good if Kitty collapsed too, which she looked on the verge of doing, though she had yet to whine of tiredness - a commendable feat for her.  
  
He forced his mouth into a smile. "Come on, Kätzchen," he encouraged. "Just to the top of this hill and then we'll stop for a moment. You can have a rest there."  
  
"No.... mustn't.... stop," Kitty wheezed. "Hafta keep.... going.... for her sake."  
  
"But what about *your* sake, Kleines? You have to rest or you'll make yourself ill."  
  
His comment was met only by gasps for air and muted protests of being 'fine.' Kurt shook his head. Kitty was a stubborn as they come, and he doubted she'd stop if she'd set her mind to continuing onwards. Admirable as her campaign was, it was dangerous for her to persist that way, and would do them no good in the long run.   
  
He glanced at the lightening sky. Morning was approaching fast. How many hours now since they'd first bedded down in that Oak tree? How many hours since all this started?  
  
Inadvertently he glanced down at Rogue. Her face was haggard and bleak, like she was valiantly fighting some great battle.... and losing. Her cheekbones jutted angularly beneath her pale skin, and for the first time the furry boy realised just how glaringly thin she was. Her near-corporeal anger at the world and ever-present hood had concealed something he'd never really considered The Rogue as. A tired, hunted teenage girl.   
  
~Life's been hard to you, hasn't it?~ he thought sadly. ~What would you be doing now if you'd been born as someone else? Where would you be if you'd been born a peasant like Kätzchen, or a Zanninsan? What kind of person would you be? Would you still be so harsh?~   
  
Inadvertantly, he sighed. ~You're so cold, Rogue. I wish you'd drop the disguise and let us see the real you. The you I glimpse whenever you move. Disjointed from your own emotions. Isolated. The you I see behind your eyes. You think I don't notice, but I do. *We* do. We see how a fight rages inside of you whenever you make decisions. We notice how you hesitate when speaking to us, afraid that you'll let something slip. What don't you want us to know, Verstecktes? What is it about you that intrigues me so?~  
  
If he expected answers, then the ex-assassin gave none, and he sighed. She seemed so helpless, lying there in his arms. So defenceless that it scared him. Rogue was strong. Rogue was indestructible. Rogue didn't get sick, and she most certainly didn't die.  
  
Except that she was. As much as he hated to even think it, the words pierced his brain like some cantankerous tumour, laughing at the two teenagers' puny rescue efforts and mocking their chances of success like a vengeful, all-powerful god.  
  
Rogue was dying.  
  
Death.   
  
Such a final word. All-encompassing and ultimate. Somehow 'the end' just didn't have the same impact. It was like a full stop at the end of a page. Such a small thing - monosyllabic - and yet it held so much weight it was soul-crushing to think about. All ideas about the afterlife and the 'great beyond' seemed meaningless when confronted with actual physical evidence of a person's own mortality. That someone so forceful, so powerful as The Rogue could be taken down by such a tiny word was inconceivable, but shockingly, tangibly true.  
  
Death.  
  
The ultimate full-stop.  
  
Suddenly a voice cut into his contemplations. Breathlessly, Kitty cried out: "Look!" slicing a verbal path through his reflections and causing him to jerk up his head in interrupted surprise.  
  
They'd crested the ridge, and now had a clear view of the rest of the plain from this vantage point. It stretched out before them, vast and barren. In the far distance a line of trees were barely visible. Barely. And in the misty beyond mountains sprouted into the clouds, disappearing from sight in the heavens, so tall were they. Other than these and the odd scrubby sprout of grass, the landscape was desolate and inhospitable, belying the lush and verdant river-scenery they'd just left behind. Watery sunlight filtering overhead only served to add to the feeling of natural despondency.  
  
But it was not this that Kitty was excitedly indicating at. On the horizon, standing imposingly against the diluted skyline, was the tall squareness of a building surrounded by a wall of some sort. It was large, one could tell even from this distance. Large enough to comfortably house a city.  
  
A city?  
  
Kurt's face creased into a poignant smile. A walled city perhaps, like Zanninsa? And if so, maybe it contained a healer. Maybe there was hope after all for them. He turned to Kitty excitedly.  
  
"Kätzchen, perhaps - " but the words perished on his lips.  
  
Kitty knelt on the ground, Rogue's armour still clutched possessively to her chest. Her cobalt eyes were wild, and her breath was short and heaving. Every muscle perceptibly trembled, and it was clear that she was utterly spent. There was no possible way she could make the long journey to that remote place across the plain.  
  
Kurt shot a crestfallen glance back at the distant construction.  
  
~So near.... and yet, so far.~  
  
His shoulders slumped, and he hunkered down next to Kitty.   
  
"It's OK, Kätzchen. We'll take a break until you're ready to travel again."  
  
"N.... no," Kitty replied resolutely. "We can't, like, afford any stops. Rogue's.... Rogue's life depends on getting to.... that.... place."  
  
"But Tapferes, it won't do any good if - "   
  
"No buts!" the Changeling girl snapped, hauling herself to her feet. However, almost instantly her legs buckled, , and she would have collapsed into the dust had Kurt's tail not snaked out to catch her arm.  
  
"You're not going anywhere in this state," he said decisively.  
  
Kitty gazed at him, locking his golden eyes with her own. "But what.... what about.... Rogue?"   
  
Yes, what about Rogue? So helpless and vulnerable, relying on them to either get her to aid or watch her slowly die. Eaten away from the inside out by the Displacer Beast's caustic last gift.   
  
Kurt was suddenly and implacably struck by how unfair the situation was. Here they were, within sight of help, and yet they were denied it lest they incur yet more, even greater harm to their party. It wasn't fair! It just wasn't fair! Rogue had saved their lives, but in doing so she'd consigned herself to join the ranks of the dead. It was unjust, but there was nothing they could do about it. Absolutely nothing.  
  
Inwardly, he seethed. Kurt didn't usually get angry, but now he felt justified in feeling irate. Rage at the Silver Sword bubbled up in his gut. How could that coward condemn her so carelessly this way? He didn't even have the honour to face Rogue in battle. No, he had to send his little *pet* to deal with her, and damn anyone else who got in the way. What would have happened if Rogue hadn't defeated that thing? The Silver Sword didn't care. He was too busy sitting in his fancy fortress to worry about such trivial things as that.  
  
She'd tried so hard to get to Belvedere. To get to.... whomever it was there that she needed to see, and now it seemed she never would. Even though he knew very little about her past, Kurt fumed at this treatment of the ex-assassin. It was ignominious and unwarranted, and it made his blood boil.  
  
Then, quite suddenly, he felt very strange. A curious niggling had started up at the back of his mind, tickling his brain and trying desperately to come to the fore as he thought about the Silver Sword. Somehow, for some inexplicable reason, Kurt was sure that this feeling was important, and he tugged at it, drawing it out as best he could, despite not really recognizing what it was. It niggled at his mental fingers, twisting around them and attempting to drag itself free that way, but it was no use. Something was missing. Some catalyst that would release this odd energy building at the rear of his psyche.   
  
Kurt's tail froze where it had been comfortingly rubbing Kitty's shoulder, and the younger girl looked up at him in alarm. His face was set in a mask of concentration, and his eyes were distant and unseeing.  
  
"Kurt?" she whispered. "Are.... you, like.... OK?"  
  
"Ja," he mumbled. "More than OK."  
  
What was this strange feeling manifesting inside him? It reminded him vaguely of the nothingness that accompanied Kitty's powers when she'd used them with him in tow, but there was something different about it. It was.... more personal. Wilder. It all but enveloped him, but pulsed just out of his reach. Tantalizing, calling him to free it.  
  
But how?  
  
Almost by itself his sight flickered to the building that sat on the distant horizon. Anger still bubbled inside him, but now it seemed muffled and hushed, like something was clogging his ears. Yet still he felt the longing to reach that inaccessible place; to find the aid they so desperately needed. Yearning tinctured his sight, revolving around inside his mind, constantly murmuring the longing he fostered.   
  
He wanted to be there. He *needed* to be there.  
  
Gradually, his ears began to pound. A low shushing noise that only he could hear, but he ignored it. All he could think about was how much he wanted to stand outside that place; to help both Kitty and Rogue by getting them there. They had to get there. *He* had to get them there. He had to....  
  
He had to....  
  
Had to....  
  
Had....  
  
At once, the world exploded around him. Or rather, it imploded; folding in on itself in a burst of brilliance and collapsing white light. Kurt heard Kitty scream, but the light consumed his senses, robbing him of all but the knowledge of its vividness. He smelt the acrid stench of brimstone, but there was no time or chance to sneeze. His stomach lurched as his feet felt like they were being pulled from under him, and it was with a grateful heart that he touched down on solid ground again. Dancing spots covered his vision, and blood pounded in his ears, making him feel distinctly nauseous but at the same time, strangely exhilarated.  
  
Gradually the numbing spots and pounding abated, and Kurt blinked confusedly. Something was wrong. He could no longer see the horizon stretched out before him, and instead of grass beneath his bare feet, he sensed gravel and thousands of small, sharp pebbles.   
  
He appeared to be standing in front of a large wooden panel, and by craning his neck he could see that it was in fact one of two massive doors embedded into a sturdy whitewashed wall, much bigger than that of Zanninsa, but with a similar feeling of durability and magnitude.  
  
It couldn't be, could it?  
  
Could it?  
  
~I didn't know I could do *that*.~  
  
Kurt whirled round at the sound of a wheeze beside him, and found himself gazing at Kitty's hunched form. Slowly she sat up, eyes still squeezed closed. A bead of sweat traced its way down the side of her head, and she gritted: "What. Was. That?"  
  
"Kätzchen.... Kitty.... We're here. We're actually here!" Kurt babbled, smiling fit to make his cheeks hurt.   
  
Kitty opened one eye. "Here? Where's here? What are you, like, talking about, Kurt?"  
  
"Here!" he said emphatically. "I mean, we're there.... I mean, I did it.... at last, I think I did it.... Something happened.... I felt strange and then.... poof! Here we are!"  
  
"Wait a minute." Kitty shook her head, as if clearing a persistent fug from her brain. "*You* did that? All that spinning and bright light and nausea, that was *you*."  
  
Kurt nodded.  
  
"Kurt, listen to me very carefully, now. Don't you *ever* do that.... whatever-it-was-that-you-just-did without warning me again!"  
  
"I'm not sure what I did," said Kurt, some of the delight fading from his voice, but then it returned almost immediately. "My powers must be growing in."  
  
"Your.... excuse me?"  
  
"I'll explain later, Kätzchen. But for now, we're here."  
  
"And I say again, like, *where* is here?" Kitty replied, looking blearily up at the huge wooden gates. "Hey, those weren't there a minute ago. Where'd they come from?"  
  
"It's not them that have moved, Kleines, it's us. Somehow we've been transported to right outside that building we saw in the distance."  
  
Kitty's jaw dropped. "Really? Like, wow!"  
  
"Ja."  
  
"It doesn't look much like a city, though."  
  
Kurt turned back to the doors, a slight frown creasing his features. "You're right. It doesn't," he was forced to concede.   
  
Rogue stirred weakly in his arms in faint retaliation of the venom slowly devouring her, and the elf snapped to attention. "But we can't afford to be picky. Rogue needs help, and quickly. Perhaps somebody inside can give it."  
  
He walked forward, but stopped. There was no sign anywhere of a Gatekeeper's Booth or anything equivalent to it. How were they supposed to alert people to their presence? No smaller doors had been cut into the wood, and any knocking would surely go unheard due to the sheer immensity and obvious thickness of the gates.  
  
Kurt turned back to where Kitty still knelt, opening his mouth to ask her about their dilemma, when another voice abruptly cleaved through the early morning air.  
  
"Halt! Who goes there?"  
  
Both teenagers tilted their heads upwards towards where the voice had come from. High above them, atop the very wall itself was a small cubicle made of thatch and wooden planks. It was a tiny construction, no more than a few feet wide, and the figure leaning over the side at them was dwarfed almost to invisibility. The voice called again. It was evidently male.  
  
"I said, who goes there? Answer me!"  
  
Kurt cleared his throat. He was the only one of their number even capable of replying.   
  
"Please, we need help."  
  
"State your purpose, stranger," the person - Kurt assumed it was a sentry or a guard of some kind - snapped.  
  
"Our friend has been injured," Kurt yelled loudly. "We seek assistance from a healer. We were hoping we could find one here. We thought this place was a city."  
  
"Yeah right!" shouted the person, in a most un-guard-like manner. "Like I haven't heard *that* one before!"  
  
Kurt was surprised. "No, really. She's been poisoned. She may be dying. We need to find help for her, fast. Please. Won't you let myself and my companions inside?"  
  
"Inside?" The voice sounded incredulous. "Are you joking? Be off with you, before I call for assistance of my own. Take your filthy lies somewhere else. They won't work on me."  
  
Incredulity showed plainly in Kurt's requests. "Bitte, I beg you. Let us inside if you have a healer in this place."  
  
"Beg all you want, scumbag. You're not getting past as long as I'm guarding these gates."  
  
"We've never done anything to you. How can you just let someone die like this?" Kurt shouted angrily. "It's heartless!"  
  
"The same way you and your armies just 'let' my village burn and die, you filthy lying bastard! You and your Silver Sword soldiers never showed my people any compassion. Why should I show *you* any?"  
  
"Silver Sword?" Kurt blinked, puzzled. "We're nothing to do with the Silver Sword. It's because of him that our friend's hurt."  
  
"Liar! I can see right through you. Leave this sanctuary before I call someone who'll make you *really* sorry you passed this way!"  
  
Kurt couldn't believe it. Not only was this 'guard' denying them entrance, but also he was accusing them of working for the Silver Sword. The one who'd done this to them in the first place. The cause of so much pain and misery for so many people. Them....  
  
Kitty swallowed loudly behind him. "They're.... they're not gonna, like, let us in, are they?" she said softly. It was more of a statement than a question, and was spoken with quiet sorrow and pained resignation.  
  
No such acceptance existed in Kurt's voice. "How can you do this? We're *not* part of the Silver Sword's army. How can you just accuse us without any proof? Please, our friend... she's.... she's.... dying."   
  
"Save it for someone who cares!"  
  
The body leaning over the side of the cubicle vanished. No doubt to fetch the 'someone' he'd spoken of. Kurt stared after him, fresh anger welling inside his chest.   
  
"Kurt?"   
  
Kitty's voice slid into his ear, despondent and poignant. The elf's shoulders slumped. What was the use in pretending, or getting angry? Anger didn't help things; it only sapped emotions dry. Tarnishing them.   
  
"No, Kätzchen. They're not."  
  
"Then Rogue..."  
  
"Ja." The words came out broken, stained with grief. To come so far and then be turned away at the final barrier.... he felt numb. Beyond sadness. It was too much. All too much. Something, or someone of a higher power had decided long ago they would be doomed to failure, and it seemed there was nothing he could do to change that, however much he wanted to.   
  
Rogue shivered in his arms, but even this inadvertent movement was weaker than usual. She was fading fast, slipping through their fingers, and they couldn't save her. This place had been their final hope. She couldn't hold out until they found somewhere else. He had to face it. Rogue was going to.... going to....  
  
He turned away from the gate, angry tears stinging his eyes.  
  
"Come on, Kätzchen. Let's go. We're not wanted here."  
  
Kitty struggled to her feet, swaying unsteadily. She uttered no protest, but cast a miserable glance back over her shoulder as they began traipsing away from what they'd hoped would be deliverance, but had turned out only to be the final nail in Rogue's proverbial coffin. An unhappy sigh caught in her throat.  
  
Kurt didn't look back. He strode away as fast as he could, with a purposefulness and strength he didn't possess. Where were they supposed to go? He couldn't deny the inevitable, so what were they to do with the.... the body? With the husk that had once been Rogue.  
  
~No, I can't think like that! It's not over yet!~ he mentally berated himself. Yet the cold voice of reality persevered. It *was* over. And there was nothing left for them to do but pick up the pieces and carry on.   
  
Carry on....  
  
//Stop!//  
  
The silent command struck him like a bolt of lightning. Kurt froze, paralysed. Kitty hurried over to him, worried, but halted herself as a similar order sliced into her mind, forcing her to obey it.  
  
//Stay exactly where you are.//  
  
The pair stood taciturnly. Kurt recognized the voice from earlier, but for the Changeling this was an entirely new experience.  
  
"Kurt?" she whimpered. "What's going on?"  
  
"It's OK, Kleines," Kurt soothed her, wondering himself if it really was. With the sudden manifestation of his birthright-powers and ensuing argument with the sentry, he'd almost forgotten about the outlandish, gender-less voice that had directed him to this place. He wet his lips, wondering what was about to occur.  
  
He didn't have to wait very long. Another, physical voice, female this time, called down to them from on high. Both adolescents whipped round at the sound of it.  
  
"Please, wait! Don't leave!"  
  
A slender figure stood in the cubicle, waving frantically at them. Her face was indistinguishable, but Kurt's sharp eyes could make out a flash of vibrant pink as she moved.  
  
She yelled again. "Please, tell me, why do you seek passage into this temple?"  
  
Temple? Kurt shouted back. "What use is there in telling you? You'll only send us away again."  
  
"No I won't!" The individual answered. "If you have a valid reason then of course you'll be allowed in. What on earth makes you think.... Oh wait; I know why you say that." She turned away, calling over her shoulder. "Ray, what exactly did you say to them?"  
  
Neither Kurt nor Kitty heard any reply, but apparently there was one, because the female then said crossly; "Oh honestly! Did you have any proof? No? Well then what right did you have to.... fine, be that way! You can be so stubborn sometimes!" She turned back to the waiting duo. "I'm sorry, can we please start over from scratch? Why do you want to come inside?"  
  
Kurt sighed, weary of explaining himself. "Our friend has been injured. We hoped to find a healer or someone who could help her."  
  
The female seemed to consider this for a moment, then said; "One of the priorities of this temple is to give aid to those who need it. I suppose you fit the bill, and there are only two of you.... Wait right there whilst I sort out the gates. And I apologise again for how my.... 'friend' treated you." Her voice dripped sarcasm.   
  
The flash of pink vanished, and Kitty turned hopefully to Kurt. "Do you, like, think she means it?"  
  
"Ich habe keine Ahnung. I don't know, Kätzchen, but I certainly hope so."  
  
They watched the great doors with bated breath, and sure enough, after a few minutes a loud creaking ensued from one's hinges and it opened a crack. An adolescent head popped out of the gap. It was topped with a length of dark brown hair, and had a grin plastered on distinctly oriental features that seemed to literally stretch from ear to ear.  
  
"Hey there. You waited." They recognised the feminine voice that had called to them from the cubicle. Curious hazel eyes regarded them, and a slender hand beckoned for them to enter through the opening.  
  
Kitty shot Kurt a wary look. "Reckon it's like, safe?" she hissed.   
  
Kurt shrugged. "How should I know? But Rogue needs help quickly, or we'll lose her. If the worst comes to the worst, I'll try my powers again to get us out of there."  
  
Kitty seemed dubious - she'd neither truly understood nor enjoyed Kurt's 'powers' the last time - but acknowledged the urgency of the situation. Obediently the two pattered forward, sliding through the crack after the brown-haired female.  
  
They found themselves in a large courtyard inlaid with cobbles. To their right was a small structure they assumed was used to house the mechanisms for operating the gates, and before them was a stretch of ground leading up to a magnificent set of tall, stone buildings.   
  
Despite themselves, both teenagers gawped. The buildings were beautiful, reaching up into the very sky itself, and covered in creeping vines and gaudy flowers. They were very old, as the crumbling masonry showed, but gave off an aura of tranquillity and wisdom that only comes with age. Truly a breathtaking sight.   
  
Standing between the gates and them was a small platform on top of which was a wooden construction that held a sizable bronze bell. The metal flashed in the early sunlight, making it appear burnished by the gods themselves.  
  
The girl who'd let them in waved to someone standing in the mechanism-booth, and the crack in the gates sealed shut behind them with a hollow boom. Then she turned to them, beaming. Kitty noted with some disgust that she wore a garish pink robe that brushed the floor, covering the hem in a thick layer of grime and dust.  
  
"Sorry about that." The girl stuck out a hand in welcome, then retracted it in embarrassment when she realised neither guest was able to shake it. "Oops." Her eyes fell upon their tattered appearance, taking in Kitty's near-absolute nudity and Rogue's still form. "Man, you really weren't kidding!" she exclaimed.  
  
"Nein, although your 'friend' declined to believe us," Kurt replied, somewhat tetchily.  
  
She rubbed at the back of her head, embarrassed. "Yeah, I'm really sorry about that. You'll have to forgive him. Ray's village was plundered and burnt down by the Silver Sword's army not so long ago. He was the only one to survive, and now he doesn't really trust anybody he doesn't know anymore. But I'm gabbling. Your friend needs medical attention. Follow me."   
  
She set off at a brisk pace, and both Kitty and Kurt tried their best to follow her, but still found themselves trailing behind.   
  
"Please, wait," Kitty called out. "We, like, can't keep up with you."  
  
The girl halted and slapped her forehead. "Gah, how stupid of me. You both look all in. Let me get someone to help you." She ran to the bell, climbing the dais and taking the thick rope extending from within it in both hands. Resonant tolling rang out loudly across the courtyard as she expertly pulled, making the ground vibrate with each booming knell.  
  
Almost at once, crowds of people spilled from the stone buildings, running down the staircases and clustering around the platform. Many of them were still half-asleep, and they milled about blearily, voicing their anger at being awoken at such an ungodly hour. All of them wore the same magenta robes as the bell-ringer girl.  
  
"What? What is it?" cried one woman, rubbing sleep from her eyes.   
  
"Who rang the alarm bell?" demanded another boy angrily.   
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"Is this another drill?"  
  
"No, look," a small boy with closely cropped black hair pointed at the bell. "It's Jubilee. She rang it."  
  
"Jubilee?"  
  
"What's she doing, waking us like this? Doesn't she know the rooster hasn't even crowed yet?"  
  
"I was in *bed*!"  
  
"Which is where I'm going back to right now."  
  
"Too right. Who does she think she is, anyway?"  
  
"So rude!"  
  
"Just like her. No respect."  
  
"You said it."  
  
The girl atop the platform stopped her tolling and held up her hands for silence. Even so, she was forced to raise her voice just to be heard above the indignant chatter.  
  
"Brothers, Sisters, please, can I have your attention." Then when nobody took a blind bit of notice, she reverted to yelling. "OI! LISTEN TO ME!"  
  
A hush fell over the assembled, more-than-a-little-disgruntled people, and one by one they stopped talking to stare expectantly at the teenager who'd so violently roused them. For her part, she gazed around at them, took a deep breath, and continued in a slightly more dignified fashion.  
  
"Brothers and Sisters, I'm sorry for waking you, but we have an emergency on our hands! Only moments ago, three visitors were admitted into the temple, and now I need aid to get one of them to the infirmary. She's desperately sick, and needs to get there as quickly as possible. Will anybody help me?"  
  
There was a muted rumbling for a moment, and then someone pushed their way through the crowd to stand on the podium steps. He had longish, shaggy blond hair down to his shoulders, and was quite tall, making the magenta robe seem doubly ridiculous on his gangly frame.  
  
"Ah'll help. Where are they?"  
  
"They're...." The one known as Jubilee cast about for her guests, and smiled as she caught sight of them at the back of the crowd. "There they are."  
  
As one, the mass of faces swivelled to look at Kurt, Kitty and Rogue, and they shrank back under the collective discerning gaze, conscious of their ragged appearances.   
  
The masses parted, allowing the blonde youth to pass through. He stopped in front of Kurt, and - curiously - seemed not in the least surprised at the elf's demonic exterior. Instead, he simply smiled benevolently and said in a kindly southern drawl akin to Rogue's own: "Here, let me take her."  
  
Kurt hesitated a moment, wondering whether to trust him. A quick glance at Rogue's drawn face made the decision for him, and he deposited her as gently as he could in the obliging stranger's waiting arms. The blonde boy lifted her easily.  
  
"Light as a feather," he commented. "Stand back, Ah wouldn't want y'all to be hurt now."  
  
"Hurt?" Kurt repeated, puzzled.  
  
"Just do as he says," called Jubilee, "And try not to be frightened."  
  
Kurt took a step backwards, muttering to himself. "Frightened? Of what?"  
  
His answer came forthwith. In a burst of blinding light, the tall youth suddenly lifted off from the ground and flew into the sky. The resultant shockwave knocked Kurt onto his behind, and he and Kitty gaped as the iridescent figure soared easily towards one of the buildings - the tallest one - and hovered outside a large window several floors up. He kicked it with his foot, alerting those within of his presence, and presently the shutters banged open, allowing him easy access to the room beyond. Both he and his precious cargo disappeared from sight, leaving Rogue's companions gawping after them in surprise.  
  
"Did he just...." Kurt started, pointing one shaky finger into the sky.  
  
Jubilee jostled her way through the crowd and knelt beside him. "Now, don't be scared. I'm sorry; I'm such a scatterbrain. I guess I should have warned you better."  
  
"Entschuldigen Sie mich?" Kurt turned round golden eyes upon her. "Warned us?"  
  
"Sam's a Changeling. Um, that is to say.... um.... a Changeling is.... kind of like a... a.... well, a few years ago..." Jubilee didn't seem to know how to explain properly, and stumbled over her words; but Kitty cut her off.  
  
"It's Ok, we like, know what Changelings are."  
  
A blink. "You do?"  
  
"Uh-huh. You see; I'm a Changeling too."  
  
"You are?" The strangely clothed girl seemed taken aback, and a surprised murmur ran through the throng of people behind her. Jubilee turned back to Kurt. "And you?"  
  
"No, no." Kurt held up his oddly shaped hands. "I'm no Changeling. Just a freak."  
  
"Hey, we're all 'freaks' here, according to usual perception, so don't do yourself down," she chided.  
  
Now it was Kitty's turn to be startled. "Then you're a Changeling?"  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"And them?" she looked pointedly, and with her usual lack of tact at the assembled crowd.  
  
"Mostly. It's a long story." Jubilee sighed and shook her head.  
  
Kitty opened her mouth to ask undiplomatically what this 'long story' was, when suddenly an expression of pain crossed her face and the utterance transformed into a sharp intake of breath. The armour clutched in her arms clattered to the cobbled floor as she wrapped her arms about her chest, falling ungracefully to her knees and causing several members of the crowd to blush at her imprudent attire.   
  
Kurt whipped round, twisting his tail painfully beneath him. "Kätzchen!"  
  
Jubilee stood up, instantly business-like. "Someone get some clothes, quickly. We have to get both of them inside and warmed up."  
  
A few people started forward, though many hung back, unsure of what to make of their strange visitors. Kurt found himself hauled to his feet by strong, yet gentle hands.  
  
"Let go of me! Kätzchen!" he called, watching as she too was helped upright. A tall man with sandy brown hair caught her as she toppled over again, scooping her up into his arms and carrying her off into the large building Rogue had been taken too.   
  
Kurt allowed himself to be led there too, more because he wanted to follow Kitty than because he went voluntarily. He still wasn't sure of these people enough to completely trust them, but knew he had to stick close to his companions as much as possible just in case a quick exit was called for.  
  
He was aware of Jubilee being near his arm, coercing him along and up the stone steps into the huge building. Several other individuals also walked beside him, but the majority dispersed in the courtyard, returning to their beds and other posts amid copious yawning and low-key grumbling. Kurt watched them all through questioning eyes. Just how much could he trust these folks? They'd done nothing hostile as of yet - although the boy identified as the surly 'Ray' had come pretty close.   
  
Well, whatever happened, his main concern was the welfare of Kitty and Rogue, and as they seemed to be guiding him to where those two had been taken, he supposed he'd go along with them for now and ask questions later.  
  
"The armour...." he mumbled, and tried to point. Jubilee heard him and shouted hurriedly over her shoulder.  
  
"Someone get the armour that the girl dropped and bring it along. Take it to the Infirmary."  
  
"Danke," said Kurt with genuine gratefulness. Rogue would definitely not be pleased with him if he lost her armour and weaponry. Not one bit.  
  
That was, if she woke up.  
  
~No, no, not if, when!~ Kurt reminded himself vehemently. ~Rogue'll be all right. She'll survive. She *will*! She *has* to!~ He clenched his fists. ~She just *has* to!~  
  
"No problem," Jubilee returned, jerking him from his thoughts. "We'll take care of everything. You just come with us to the Infirmary and we'll fix you up, OK?"  
  
Kurt could see no reason to argue. This 'Infirmary' was where that Changeling boy had taken Rogue, and presumably Kitty too. It made sense that this would be his destination also. Best just to go along with it for the time being. If it meant they got the help they needed.... well then, Kurt was willing to take a chance if it meant the well-being of his two female companions.   
  
"Lead the way."  
  
*******************  
  
From an upstairs window of a neighbouring building, two sets of eyes regarded the trio's arrival with interest.   
  
This particular building was off-limits to most of the temple Initiates. Those Brothers and Sisters who had not yet passed the Divine Tests and proven themselves worthy of high office. These rooms contained secrets divulged only to the highest-ranking individuals of the Temple of The Way and those selected by a greater authority, and right of entry was the most sought after privilege an Initiate could hope for. They were private and enclosed, and few ever gained access, no matter how hard they tried.   
  
Consequently, the building had been imbued over the years with an air of mystery, and more than a few stories wee passed around the tables at supper concerning what went on inside and concerning those who inhabited them.  
  
The figure closest to the glass-less slit of a window watched as Kurt and Kitty were borne away by the crowd summoned by one of the underlings. Jubilee, some of them had called her. A Changeling, brought here years ago as a child when the magical fabric of the lands began to shift and the first Changelings appeared. She'd been one of the earliest to be brought here. Blue eyes viewed her as she spoke to the masses she'd assembled, ordering them around like a true diplomat. That one showed promise as a peacekeeper in future, which was a useful trait in war-torn realms such as these.  
  
Yet despite these musings, it wasn't the oriental girl that truly interested the watcher. Rather, the three guests she'd welcomed into their midst snagged her attention and held it firmly.   
  
The figure gazed at them. One so weak she couldn't walk, another reduced to unconsciousness by sickness. The third was strange. He walked as an upright animal might, and had a tail to support this assumption; but the fur that covered his half-naked body was powder blue, and he acted distinctly human and not at all like a wild beast.  
  
The eyes narrowed. There was something familiar about him, a memory that played about the realms of forgotten recollections; but it remained out of reach for the moment.  
  
"Are these the ones from your visions?" she asked in a husky, distinctly female voice.  
  
"Yes," replied her companion, who stood a little way off. She apparently wasn't quite as entranced with their visitors, and her own eyes constantly flickered from them to the inside of the room with obvious agitation. "They are."  
  
"Such strange beings," the blue-eyed woman contemplated. "Not at all what I expected."  
  
"What *did* you expect?"   
  
"I'm not entirely sure *what* I expected. Perhaps someone a little.... stronger. More like saviours than these three."  
  
"Appearances can be deceiving," reminded her companion, shifting her feet slightly as she leaned casually against the wall next to the window in a most unceremonious fashion. "As we know only too well."  
  
"Quite." The cerulean orbs turned away from the window, sending an idle reproving glance at her comrade's untailored stance. The smaller, and ostensibly younger, female hastily straightened up, clasping her hands in front of her in the manner of a naughty child caught doing something unpleasant.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
The older woman's expression softened and she waved a careless hand at the apology. "Don't be. Just my strict upbringing raising its ugly head again. I'll have to keep that in check. After all, what's the use of being allowed into these rooms if you can't act as you wish whilst you're in them?"  
  
The younger girl said nothing. It hadn't been very long that she'd been authorized to come to this place, and she still wasn't sure how to act. Really, it was only a fluke that she was here at all. A glitch in the Powers That Be's judgment that had sent to her images of the future through her Changeling power. It still amused her that she, a lowly Underling who'd not long been at the Temple, should be given such a gift.  
  
Or was it a curse?  
  
She still wasn't sure.  
  
Her superior shot her a sidelong glance, noting her silence and uncomfortable demeanour. She gestured to an ornately carved chair in the corner. "Please, sit down."  
  
The girl did as she was bade appreciatively. At least sitting down she was likely to make fewer mistakes. Tucking her feet carefully under her, she clasped her hands in her lap and breathed deeply. The smell in here was pleasant, like incense mixed with honey. Sweet, bordering on sickly, yet with a soothing edge that instantly relaxed all those who scented it. Thrice she'd been in this room now, and thrice the aroma had intoxicated her senses with its headiness. She could sit here and drink in that smell forever.  
  
The older woman remained at the window, transferring her gaze back to the courtyard below. She sighed.  
  
"Tell me again what your visions foretold. Perhaps your words will enlighten me as to the saviour qualities of our three guests, because at the moment I fail to see them."  
  
The seated girl cleared her throat, wondering where to begin. Nervously, she twisted a lock of red hair in her fingers. "But I already explained my visions as best I could to you. I.... I wouldn't know how to do it again."  
  
"Then answer me this," the other woman replied. She was an adept at extracting information with the minimum amount of fuss. "What did you see? I don't want to know what you *think* you saw, or what any of it meant. I want to know the exact images you witnessed in your trance. Everything, down to the tiniest detail you can remember. Anything could be important."  
  
The girl licked her chapped lips. "Um, well, I was standing in the courtyard. I don't know if it was day or night, because whatever hung in the sky was a horrible blood red, and the clouds around it were crimson. The Temple itself was in ruins, and I could hear sounds of some great battle raging about me, but saw nothing of the sort. The place was completely deserted. It was as if ghosts of a long-passed war were still fighting, half in and half out of this world." She paused.  
  
"Yes, go on."  
  
"I.... it's hard to explain what a vision is like for someone who's never had one. I was there, but I had no physical body. It was like I was merely a spirit. An observer who couldn't alter or take part in events."  
  
"An astral body," the older woman supplied.   
  
"I suppose you could call it that. But it was more.... I don't know.... more intimate. I was everything, and yet I was nothing. I saw all that happened, but I knew nothing about any of it. It was.... unique.... I don't know how else to put it. "  
  
"Be that as it may, try your best to explain to me what you saw next."  
  
"Well, what I saw next wasn't in the Temple at all. I didn't recognise the place, but I knew from the first that something was wrong with it. It was too dark; too eerie to be anything crafted by mortal hands. At first I thought it was a stronghold of one of the Seven Hells, but then I saw two figures huddled in the far corner. I couldn't make out whom they were, but they seemed frightened of something. In front of them stood a lion, with its front paws raised, clawing at the empty air. Then this beast became a sword. It... it didn't exactly *change* per se. There was no transformation process, at least. It was just a lion one moment, and a blade the next. The metal of the sword seemed to be wreathed in fire, and as I looked at it, it seemed to speak to me. I know it sounds stupid, but I heard a voice, and somehow I *knew* it was coming from the sword."  
  
"And what did it say?"  
  
"I.... I can't remember everything, but I remember the first part very clearly. It said, 'Seek not those who walk in the light, for it is she who is pursued by wraiths of darkness who shall come. The cat of shadows shall bring deliverance with flimsy paws, and he who crawls through thickest night to reach the dawn of salvation shall redeem us all with the wicked blow of purity. Through death shall come life, and through life, death. Murder will beget the world's release, and past sins shall be forgotten in the face of loving sacrifice.' There.... there was some more, but I.... I'm sorry, but I don't know what it was!" she blurted, ashamed of her own forgetfulness and mentally cursing herself. What was the use of being given a vision if afterwards she couldn't recall what it said?   
  
Not for the first time, she wondered why she had been chosen to bear this burden when she knew so little about her burgeoning powers. It would have been wiser to send them to someone who'd known about being a Changeling for more than a month. What had The Powers That Be been thinking?  
  
"There is no need to apologise," the rich, fruity voice of her elder answered. "I'm impressed that you managed to remember all that you did. It all seems a bit like gobble-de-gook to me. But don't let me put you off. Please, continue."  
  
The girl stared for a moment, caught between relief that her lapse in memory had been waived so easily, and hearing someone as important and stately as the Temple Mother use the colloquial phrase 'gobble-de-gook.' She checked herself and carried on; pausing here and there as she searched her memory for all the details she could muster.  
  
"I.... I went towards the figures in the corner. The sword came towards me, and for an instant I could see an image reflected in it. It was of a girl with strangely coloured hair, running forwards with a facial expression I can only describe as pure fury and hatred. She had a cape that billowed round her with a life of its own, and wielded a blade streaked with fresh blood. Then in an instant she was gone, and the sword dissipated into a thousand shards around me that dusted the ground and made it appear encrusted with diamonds and precious stones.   
  
"I stopped, then... I mean, the spirit that was me stopped, and looked up at the falling debris. Truly, they seemed like Heavenfire - I mean, the teardrops of the gods themselves. Then, with the same lack of interest one might feel in a proper dream, I saw things in each of the fragments. Strange images of people and places I didn't recognise, but somehow.... somehow I knew they were important."  
  
"And what did you see in them?" asked the older woman, gazing out of the window as the last few Brothers and Sisters of the Temple dispersed from the cobbled quad. She gave off an air of indifference, but the girl's words had captured her curiosity and seized her securely in their grasp as a cat does a mouse. She didn't push, for fear of flustering the already nervy teenager, but dearly wished to know all that she had to tell. Some of what had been said had slotted into her mind with ease, filling in parts of a deadly puzzle to which she already held several pieces. Perhaps the rest of the vision could provide a few more.  
  
The red-haired girl bit her lip. "I.... they were very random. I couldn't see any connection between them, and I can only remember a few."  
  
"Nonetheless, proceed, my child."  
  
"I saw.... I saw a horse, thundering across an empty plain, its rider shrouded in shadow. I saw a snarling beast, taller than a man, but horribly human. It.... it lunged at a smaller figure, and I heard a girl scream. Then I saw the Temple. It was.... it was burning, and people were.... were running around in a blind panic. Some fell; their clothes aflame, and others tried to fight the blaze but were either beaten back or burned to a crisp. It was.... so horrible. I can't even begin to describe how terrible it was. So many bodies. And the screaming.... the screaming." She began to shiver, and her voice tailed off at the haunting recollection she would much rather have forgotten.  
  
The woman turned at this abrupt hiatus, eyebrows arching into sympathetic arcs at the sight of the trembling girl. She crossed room and laid a hand on the youngster's shoulder.  
  
"You don't have to continue if it pains you."   
  
The girl's head jerked up at this unprecedented tactility, but her brow creased again as she stared up at her superior.  
  
"No, I have to go on. You said it yourself, my visions may be important." She took a deep breath and nodded, as if telling herself as much as anyone else. "After the fragments had scattered, I found myself in a darkened room. It was small, like your study, and had a musty aura about it, like it was very old. A figure was bending over a desk to one side, and somehow I was then looking over his or her shoulder. I don't even remember crossing the room to get there; but on the desktop I saw a ream of parchment, yellowed with age and covered in strange writing I couldn't understand. Next to it was a sheet of newer paper, which was headed only 'Calorsiel Texts.' The figure was reading this, and when I turned to look I realised that it was the same girl I'd seen reflected in the sword. I recognised her white and brown hair, and she was wearing the same clothes, albeit a little less tattered. As I watched, she seemed to melt away before my eyes, and then I saw three people standing in a shaft of bright light, hemmed in on all sides by absolute blackness." She paused again, unsure of how to continue.  
  
"Yes?" the older woman waited with bated breath. "Did you recognise them?"  
  
"Not at the time," she admitted, "But I do now. They were the three we've just seen in the courtyard. But, they were different somehow. Wiser. More.... worldly. Like they'd seen things they shouldn't, and done things that.... I'm sorry, I'm not making any sense."  
  
"On the contrary, you've made a substantial amount of sense. Was there anything else?"  
  
"Just a few words that sort of popped into my head just before I woke up. I don't know if they were related to the vision, or whether they were just the result of something I ate." She smiled wanly at her half-hearted attempt at a joke.  
  
"What were they?"  
  
"'From whence shall our saviours come? From three, rendered two, to unite as one. Love, Hope and Death.' Does.... does that make any sense to you?"  
  
"Yes, as a matter of fact it does." The older woman aimed a quick glance out the window, though she could see little of the outside world from where she stood. "Who would have thought it? They seem so frail. Such power...."  
  
"Power?" The redhead was more than a little confused. To her, the visions had seemed nothing but unrelated, arbitrary images thrown together into a messy clump in her head. Yet the woman beside her was acting as though she'd just spoken pearls of innate wisdom.   
  
"Yes." She looked down at the puzzled teenager. "Forgive me, I'm getting ahead of myself. You see; those three are the key."  
  
"The key?"  
  
"To peace. I know we don't really recognise outside events in our sect, but the fact remains that The Silver Sword grows more powerful day after day. Soon he will not be content with our continued presence here. Such an amassment of power from so many assembled Changelings he'd undoubtedly see as a threat to himself and his rule. He is ruthless, you understand, and he won't allow anything to remain that may oppose him in his quest for power. He is utterly merciless."  
  
"I.... I know," the girl bowed her head in quiet sorrow. When she spoke, her tone was that of deep grief and sadness, tinctured with a knowledge one of her tender years should not have to possess. "He destroyed my village, remember? His armies came and ransacked everything. I still don't even know why he did it. We weren't a large place by any means. No more than a hamlet, really. Worthless to a warlord. Perhaps he thought of our destruction as sport. His men certainly seemed to enjoy themselves." Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.   
  
The blue-eyed woman crouched beside the teenager, long magenta robes brushing the floor and sending up a diminutive dust-cloud of ashes from spent joss sticks and incense. She rested her hands on the arm of the chair, and gazed up at her charge with a look that spoke of empathy and profound regret.  
  
"I'm sorry, my child. I should have held my tongue."  
  
"No, it's alright. I'm probably being too sensitive. It's just.... it still hurts."  
  
She nodded sagely. "And it will do for quite some time. I won't lie to you. I don't see the point in sugarcoating the truth. But I do hope that your decision to stay at this Temple will help with the pain."  
  
The girl sniffed. "You've already helped me more than you can ever know. Taking me in, teaching me about my powers. I thought I was possessed before I came here. News didn't travel easily to my village. We didn't really know about Changelings until I came her and found out I *was* one." She wiped her nose ungraciously on the back of her hand. "I suppose, what I'm trying - very inarticulately - to say, is.... I.... thank you. For everything."  
  
"It is I who should be thanking you." The blue eyes sparkled.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"You've provided me with information I couldn't have found on my own."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"You see, going back to what I was saying, much as I hate to admit it, it is only a matter of time until The Silver Sword extends his reach to even this remote land. His clutch creeps further every day. He even has the Guild of Assassins under his thumb now, so I hear. He will not be content until he rules all the realms as one, and you know better than anyone exactly what that would entail for the people living in those conquered places."  
  
"It'd be a complete massacre," the redhead breathed.   
  
"And most probably, those left in its wake would be little more than slaves to his whims. But not everything is doom and gloom. There's a ray of hope to be found amongst all these depressing thoughts."  
  
The girl blinked. "What do you.... oh, you mean the 'saviours' from my visions?"  
  
"Precisely."  
  
"But that would mean," she turned to point out of the window, "That those three kids.... You mean *they're*.... but...."  
  
"Now you can see why I was a little surprised at their appearance, they do not seem the, ah, 'saviour' types." The woman stood up, clasping her hands behind her back and rocking backwards on her heels. "You see, I already knew there were three redeemers who would come to challenge The Silver Sword, I simply was unaware of their identities until now."  
  
"But.... but how could you know?" the girl asked. "My visions...."  
  
"Were only the second part of my knowledge. An accompaniment, if you will, to what I already knew. For you see, the parchment you saw - The Texts of Calorsiel - they *do* exist. They contain in them an ancient prophecy that speaks of the rise of a 'glittering darkness' and the emergence of three consequent saviours. I think you can guess who this 'glittering darkness' is, and now, thanks to you, we also know who the saviours are too."  
  
"But how could you...."  
  
"The Silver Sword thinks he is the only one with a copy of the Calorsiel Texts. He has the original manuscript, and few - if any - copies were made because, at the time, the one who wrote them - a seer known as Ramnet Calorsiel - was widely ignored, and any prophecies pooh-poohed by contemporaries and unbelievers alike."  
  
"Why didn't people believe her?" the redhead wondered. She assumed Calorsiel was female, since it was a truth universally acknowledged that all seers were women. Men held more offensive and combat-orientated abilities.  
  
She assumed wrong.  
  
"Because Ramnet Calorsiel was a he. A man. By some quirk of nature, he was born with the gift of prophecy and insight, powers usually held, as you know, only by women. As a result, few took him or his words seriously, and from the start he was doomed never to be believed by anyone when he professed or warned them of coming danger. Many thought he was making things up simply because he was male. If only they could have seen the truth behind his words. If they'd only listened, then perhaps all this could have been avoided."  
  
"But they didn't," the girl rose from her seat, "And it wasn't."  
  
"Quite." The older woman nodded her assent. "And now it is up to us to make sure that these saviours he foretold about fulfil their destiny and face the Silver Sword. Whether they will win or not is a different matter. The outcome was never presaged. All that we can do is protect them whilst they need help, and aid them on their long journey. They may not yet know of the roles they must play, but they will soon."  
  
"And until then?"  
  
"Until then...." her face assumed an expression of gravity, "All our order must assist them in any way they can. Those three have a mammoth task ahead of them." She sighed. "I just hope they can bear it." There was a fleeting pause; just a small hesitation, but it spoke volumes. "And survive. Because if they don't, then we're all doomed."  
  
*******************  
  
To Be Continued....  
  
*******************  
  
  
*TRANSLATIONS*   
  
GERMANIC:  
  
Kleines ~ Little one  
Verstecktes ~ (roughly) One who hides things/ Hidden one  
Tapferes Brave one  
Ich habe keine Ahnung ~ I have no idea  
Entschuldigen Sie mich? ~ Excuse me? 


	11. Getting To Know You

DISCLAIMER: X-Men: Evo belongs to Warner Bros. And Marvel Comics. I have never, and shall never own them, no matter how much I may want to. I've simply warped them to fit my own twisted mind. However, this fic and any original work herein is officially mine, and anyone trying to steal it will find out how painful a weapon a computer mouse can when used by someone with imagination.  
  
WARNINGS: This is an AU (Alternative Universe) fic. Everything has been transplanted into a fantasy universe of my creation. Inspirations, despite what you might initially think, aren't actually from a certain Peter-Jackson-esque film project, since I started work on this before I ever *saw* those movies. Influences rather include InterNutter's spiffy fic 'Mein Teuful' (if you haven't yet read this then go do it *now*!) and various other sources I'll explain later.  
  
CODES:   
Hello = Narration  
~ Hello ~ = Thought  
"Hello" = Character Speaking  
*Hello* = Bold  
//Hello// = Psychic communication  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Argh! Exams. I hate exams. But they're over now, so here's a new chapter for y'all. Now all I have to deal with are the results. Which are perhaps worse than the actual exams themselves.  
  
As per usual, all reviews and comments are appreciated more than you could imagine. Please take pity on me and drop me a line if you like the new chappie. Drop me a line if you don't, too. Just remember that flamers will be ignored for the idiotic fools they are, and though the heating in my room is broken until further notice I won't stoop to using flame-mail to keep warm. And yes, I know the title of this instalment is clichéd, but I couldn't think of anything better. If you want interesting chapter titles then see Idiot nr. 72056.   
  
May cause drowsiness and irritability.   
  
*******************  
  
'Of Beast And Blade' By Scribbler  
Chapter Nine ~ 'Getting to Know You'  
  
*******************  
  
'You have within you right now, everything you need to deal with whatever the world can throw at you.' -- Brian Tracy  
*******************  
  
"Just hold still, will ya."  
  
"I can't help it. It hurts!"  
  
"Well, it'd hurt a lot less it you'd just quit wriggling."   
  
Jubilee tugged gently with a hairbrush at the snarled mess that crowned Kitty's head, eliciting another cry of pain.  
  
"Yowch! What's that thing made of, hedgehog spines?"  
  
"Sorry. It's just that your hair...." Jubilee waved one hand at the chaos of knots and impenetrable tangles. Kitty reached up one tentative hand and rubbed at her skull.  
  
"Yeah, but do you have to, like, scalp me?"  
  
The oriental girl sank back onto her heels where she was kneeling and crossed her arms, tapping her chin in thought.   
  
"You know, this would be a lot easier if we just cut it all off."  
  
Kitty whipped round to face her, clamping both hands down over her head in protest. "You are totally *not* cutting off my hair! No *way* am I gonna, like, sport the bald look."  
  
"Why not?" Jubilee shot back. "You've already started by the looks of things." She gestured at the hairless spot where part of the Changeling's brown tresses had been burned off. Kitty scowled.  
  
"That's different!"  
  
The two girls were sat on a low bed in a small, modest room that branched off from the main Temple Infirmary. The resident physician had been so preoccupied with Rogue when Kitty was brought in, that she'd been treated rapidly for her exhaustion and quickly given over to the care of a girl who just happened to be waking by at the time. Hence, Jubilee now found herself faced with the somewhat daunting task of untangling the peasant-girl's hair in an effort to clean her up. Unfortunately, not being one of the most patient people on the planet, she found it difficult to deal with Kitty's trademark copious complaining and steady stream of verbal objections.  
  
"Well if you don't wanna lose your hair, then stop pulling away when I'm trying to brush it!" she snapped, meeting Kitty's glare with equal distaste.  
  
Kitty pulled the blanket she'd been wrapped in further around her shoulders. It was warmer than any clothing she'd ever worn, and the tonic she'd been given to ease her fatigue had educed a glowy, relaxed feeling throughout her body. She was certain it had been spelled in some way, but had been too drained to dispute when given it. She would have been very content were it not for several irksome factors. One being the absence of Kurt, and the other, Jubilee's none-too-gentle hair-brushing.  
  
"I can, like, brush my hair myself, you know," she pointed out.  
  
"No you can't. I was told to do this, so I'm going to do it. Now turn around and let me finish."   
  
Kitty sighed, but did as she was told. Good as the medicine had been, she still felt rather tired, and hadn't the energy to get into a real argument yet.   
  
Jubilee resumed her brushing, albeit taking pains not to be too rough this time. A sadist she wasn't.  
  
They sat this way for several minutes; the only sound in the diminutive room being the 'shush' of extricated hair passing though bristles. There were no windows, owing to the fact that the room was in the centre of the building, which made it very warm in wintertime, but left the view as something to be desired. Kitty sat on the edge of the bed in front of Jubilee, legs hanging over the side, and was rendered having to study her bare foot by way of entertainment. She idly rotated her ankle backwards and forwards in an attempt to amuse herself and distract her errant tongue.  
  
The silence was abruptly broken when Kitty piped up, and Jubilee rolled her brown eyes, expecting another bout of whinging. However, she was pleasantly surprised when the other girl asked in a perfectly civil tone, "So, like, where's Kurt, anyway?"  
  
"Kurt?"  
  
"Yeah. You know, the guy I arrived with. About yea tall, blue fur, long tail - kinda hard to miss."  
  
"You'd be surprised in a place like this," Jubilee returned, but before Kitty could ask what this implied, she went on, "He went with one of the other underlings to get cleaned up."  
  
"Oh." Kitty couldn't think what else to say. That question had been her only flash of inspiration, and she rotated her ankle again in the hope of achieving some more.   
  
If there was one thing Kitty hated, it was silence. When she'd lived alone, she'd often talked to herself just to fill the empty air, and had long intellectual conversations with her id. Since joining with Kurt and Rogue, she'd dispensed with this ritual, but her love of conversation hadn't abated one iota.  
  
The roots of her hair twanged again, and she winced, but kept her mouth closed. What to say? What to say? Thousands of questions whirled around inside her skull, but none found their way to her lips. Besides, some of them she couldn't imagine asking a strange girl she hardly knew, despite how accommodating - if slightly grouchy - she was being.  
  
"So, you're name's, like, Jubilee then?" she asked, grasping at conversational straws. Jubilee was what some of the people in the courtyard had called her, wasn't it? Strange name.  
  
"Yeah."   
  
"Short for anything?"  
  
"Jubilation. So you can see why I changed it."  
  
Kitty shrugged. "I dunno. I think it's kinda nice. Celebratory. Much better than Katherine."  
  
"Your name's Katherine?"  
  
"Technically, but everyone just calls me Kitty. Except for Kurt, who keeps saying Germanic stuff I, like, totally don't understand; and Rogue, who seems to prefer 'Shrimp'."  
  
"This 'Rogue' person likes seafood?" Jubilee's voice held a hint of puzzlement, both at the individual referred to and the seemingly random comment itself.  
  
"No, no, that's what she calls me - amongst other things. None of them, like, pleasant." Kitty abruptly caught hold of part of Jubilee's puzzlement and proceeded to swiftly elucidate. "Rogue's, like, the other girl I arrived with. The one who's really sick."  
  
"Oh, right." A pause, as if she was contemplating whether to ask her next question. "Mind if I ask why she's so ill?"  
  
"Um...." Kitty hesitated for a second, wondering how much information to reveal. She chose her next words carefully, unwilling to fully explain Rogue's predicament lest her wayward tongue bring down more problems for the ex-assassin. And herself and Kurt for that matter.  
  
~How, like, weird,~ she mused. ~Not so long ago I would've been, like, totally itching to get Rogue into trouble any way I, like, could. But now....~  
  
"She was.... poisoned. By an animal we ran into."  
  
"An animal? Must've been real nasty to lay her up so bad," Jubilee said almost jovially, her natural buoyancy returning. Apparently she hadn't picked up on the irresolute edge to Kitty's voice - a fact the brown haired girl was eternally grateful for.  
  
"Nasty. Yeah," she agreed. "It almost killed me and Kurt, but Rogue, she.... she, like.... saved us."  
  
"You sound surprised." Jubilee separated another untangled lock and starting on a fresh patch of hair.   
  
"And well I might," Kitty replied, half to herself. "We're, like, not exactly - as Kurt would put it - welcome travelling companions. Half the time, I think Rogue just puts up with us. The other half, she's plotting our violent and untimely demises."  
  
Jubilee laughed good-naturedly, not sensing the truth beneath Kitty's idle remark. "She sounds like quite a character. I'd like to meet her sometime."  
  
~If she wakes up.~ The thought pierced Kitty's mind without warning. ~Shut up, brain!~ she mentally retaliated. ~Of course she's gonna wake up!~  
  
"You probably wouldn't," Kitty stared at the floor, continuing in more civil tones. "She's had a.... different upbringing to most people. Her social skills aren't really, like, up to much. She doesn't interact very well, and she definitely does *not* like meeting new people, believe me."  
  
"Riiiight," Jubilee drawled, though it was clear she wasn't really listening. A strand of particularly knotted hair had snared her complete attention, and she focused hard on it until the backs of her eyeballs began to ache with the effort. Bits of powdered soil and leaves tumbled onto the bed sheets as she carefully worked to find order amongst the chaos.  
  
"You are so gonna need a bath after this," she pronounced. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but you're filthy."  
  
"A bath...." Kitty trailed off, remembering how a simple, inconsequential wash in the river had started this whole horrible business. All she'd wanted was a quick clean up, but the Silver Sword had to ruin even that simple pleasure. If it hadn't been for Kurt getting her out of the water in time....  
  
The grateful thought abruptly snapped off, another, sharper one taking its place.  
  
~I never did ask Kurt what he was doing there on the riverbank, did I?~  
  
"So, what exactly *is* this place? Some kind of cult?" she asked, distracting herself. No point in berating Kurt when he wasn't even there. "If so, then your uniforms are like, totally gaudy."  
  
"I suppose you could call us a cult," Jubilee replied, "Of a sort. We're a temple actually. But I agree with you about the robes. Pink's not really my colour, but you get used to it after a while. Don't ask me why they chose pink, because I don't know. I'm just a lowly Underling."  
  
"Underling?"  
  
"Yeah, Underling. It means I'm still at the basic level around here. I'm not a visitor, I'm a Resident since I live her permanently, but I haven't yet undergone the tests and divine rituals to progress to the second level of Residents - Initiates."  
  
"Initiates?"  
  
"Uh-huh. They're kinda like over-seers of Underlings and visitors. The next step up from that is Acolyte to a Senior-Initiate, and after that.... well, you can't really get much higher unless you become the Temple Mother."   
  
"Sounds complicated," Kitty mused.  
  
"Not really. No more than class-systems in towns, only we don't like the prejudice that always seems to accompany that. The way I understand it, everybody's equal, but with seniority comes more responsibility. That's what the names imply. Initiates are those who've mastered their powers enough to train Underlings who haven't. Simple, huh?"  
  
"Not really," Kitty answered. "So, let me get this straight. Everybody here is a *Changeling*? I thought Changelings hadn't started appearing until recently."  
  
Jubilee gave a short, not unkind laugh. "Well you're wrong on two accounts. Firstly, not *everybody* here is a Changeling. There are other races and people who live here too, it's just that Changeling's are the majority. And secondly, Changeling's have been appearing for *years* now. It's just that the number of us has increased dramatically recently. I don't know why. It's some big mystery the temple-elders don't like to talk about. As a rule, many seem to end up at here, where they're looked after and trained how to use their abilities safely."  
  
"Can I ask just one more question?" Kitty ventured.  
  
"Sure. Fire away."  
  
"How the heck do you, like, know all this? I thought you were like, really low down on the scale of things."  
  
Jubilee laughed again, tapping the side of her nose. "I'm just blessed with an overabundance of natural curiosity."  
  
"You mean you're nosy."   
  
She shrugged. "Whatever. I find out things. It's what I do best. Well.... that and blow stuff up. I haven't quite got the hang of my powers yet."  
  
Kitty's eyes widened. "And you're doing my hair? As in, getting extremely close to my *head*!"  
  
"Don't worry. Holding my powers in is no problem. Self-control is one of the first things they teach you here. It's just that I find them kinda difficult to manage once they're released. Big blast or little blast, I can never tell what's gonna happen until it happens. More than once I've asked myself why I couldn't have some nice, passive power like helping plants grow. But no, I get to have explosions shoot out of my fingertips."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be. I come in real handy on celebration days and festivals. So what's your power, anyhow? You said you were a Changeling too."  
  
Kitty opened her mouth to respond, but didn't have a chance to answer, because at that moment there was a scuffling sound outside the wooden door on the far-side of the room, and two voices filtered through. One of them sounded distraught, the other irritated, yet at the same time rather playful.  
  
"Leave me alone. I don't want to be brushed."  
  
"Aw, come on, sugar. I went and got the soft hairbrush specially."  
  
"Stop it, I groom myself."  
  
"But I was told to clean you up some. You're all mucky, and you smell like stagnant water."  
  
"Be that as it may, I don't have time to be groomed right now. I have to find someone."  
  
"Sure you have time. There's always time for.... Hey! Come back! Get your butt back here and let me finish what I started - "  
  
"Nein! Leave me alone, Blonderkopf!"  
  
Jubilee and Kitty exchanged puzzled glances. Kitty thought she could recognise one of the voices but the other left her stumped.   
  
Jubilee's lips twisted into a wry line. She knew the identity of the other speaker all too well.  
  
The door burst open, and a vaguely humanoid shape tumbled into the room. A flurry of blue fuzz hung in the air in its wake, and it hung off the door handle, narrow chest heaving with exertion.  
  
Kitty's eyes widened. "Kurt?"  
  
Kurt's head snapped up. "Kätzchen! I didn't know you were in here; I just picked a random room to escape from der Siedämon - "  
  
"Oh Fuzzy. Come heeere," a light voice sang from the corridor beyond the doorway. Kurt yelped and dived into the room, taking shelter beneath a wicker chair in a shadowy corner.  
  
"Bitte, hide me!" he whispered, doing the best he could to secrete himself behind the flimsy cover. Both Kitty and Jubilee stared in puzzlement at the cowering boy, wondering who and what he was hiding from.  
  
They didn't have long to wait.  
  
A figure abruptly appeared in the doorway, resting one hand against the frame and gazing intently into the room at the confused duo. She wore the same magenta robes as Jubilee, and didn't look very much older than her either. A rather stiff looking hairbrush was clutched possessively in one hand, and several blue strands danced from between the bristles, testament to where they'd been yanked out by none-too-gentle grooming. The girl waved it at Kitty and Jubilee as she spoke.  
  
"Did a short, blue, fuzzy guy with a tail just come in here?"  
  
Kitty stared dumbly, unsure of how to answer. Jubilee took control of the situation.  
  
"And why would you be looking for someone like that, Tabby?"   
  
The girl in the doorway sniffed. " 'Cause *I* was told to help him wash and clean up, but the little guy's gone and done a runner on me."  
  
"I see. Your tender charms scared yet another guy off then, I take it?"  
  
The girl known as 'Tabby' glared at Jubilee with obvious, scarcely hidden dislike. "Oh buzz off, *Jubilation*. Have you seen him or not?"  
  
"No," Jubilee replied flatly, a slight edge to her tone thanks to the insulting use of her abhorred full name. "We haven't."  
  
The two girls glared at each other for a moment more, and Kitty took the chance to examine this new arrival. Tabby was as unlike Jubilee as was possible to be. Her short blonde hair seemed to defy gravity as it exploded out around her head, and her naturally pale skin had been daubed in many different pigments and pastes in an effort to bring some colour to her wan face. However, so much make-up had been used, that the overall effect was one of a child playing in her mother's cosmetics instead of a young woman bringing out the full potential of her handsome features. She looked gaudy and cheap, and reminded Kitty somewhat of the dancing girls at 'Das Ruckenhaus'.   
  
Evidently, Tabby caught her staring, because she immediately whipped round and snapped, "What're you looking at?"  
  
"N.... nothing...." Kitty stammered. Jubilee laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Get lost, Tabby. You weren't the only one given clean-up duties, you know. I've gotta get Kitty here ready just as much as you gotta find your charge. So beat it and let me get on with my work. It's not *our* fault you can't hold onto a guy for more than five seconds."  
  
"But I *know* he came in here," Tabby argued. "This is the only door in this corridor, and I *saw* him turn down this way. He *has* to be in here!" She pouted, and made as if to start searching the room.  
  
A sudden flash of inspiration struck Kitty. "Um.... he doesn't have to be visible to like, travel, you know."  
  
Tabby's head jerked up. "What?"  
  
"He.... he like, can travel distances in a second.... without being seen," Kitty tried to explain, remembering how Kurt had somehow whisked them to the gates of the temple in roughly no seconds flat.  
  
Tabby's nose wrinkled, and her forehead puckered in thought. "Teleportation? By the gods, how am I supposed to keep track of him if he can disappear at any second?"  
  
Jubilee shrugged and went back to her brushing. "Not my problem."  
  
"You're sure he didn't come in here?" Tabby persisted. "How come your door was open?" She edged further into the room, and towards the shadowy corner where Kurt cowered in fearful silence behind his chair.  
  
"Food!" Kitty yelled out, startling both girls and causing them both to look at her with equal puzzlement. Kitty abruptly turned red as an overripe beet and mumbled, "Food. Kurt has a high met.... mitab.... mitabolobolisam.... He needs to eat a lot, and can sniff out food almost anywhere. Wherever you keep your food is probably where you'll, like, find Kurt."  
  
"The kitchens!" Tabby smacked the back of the hairbrush against her open palm. "Of course. I thought I saw a hungry gleam in his eyes. He must've gone to the kitchens. Or the larders. Ah, no matter, I'll find him!" And with that, she darted out of the room, the faint scent of kitschy perfume the only indication she'd been there at all.  
  
Kitty stared after her. "Who - or what - was that?"  
  
"Tabitha. Another Underling like me," Jubilee replied. "As to *what* she is, I think 'giant-sized-pain-in-the-butt' just about covers it."  
  
"Nein," came a muffled exclamation from the corner. "Sie ist ein Haar-Ziehen, blonde, gräßliche Teufel-Frau mit einer Stimme wie Nägeln auf einer Tafel. Ebene und einfaches."  
  
"Huh?" Jubilee said unintelligently.  
  
Kitty searched the shadows for her erstwhile travelling companion. "Alright Kurt. Like, you can come out now."  
  
"Is she gone?"   
  
"Like, yeah. She's gone."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Really really?"  
  
"Promise?"  
  
"Kurt, will you just get your fuzzy behind out here?"  
  
There was a scuffling, and a lissom form extricated himself gracefully from the murky area. Kurt crouched before the two girls on all fours, and Kitty's cheeks coloured instantly he was visible. She averted her eyes with a jerk of her head, causing Jubilee to lose her place in the tangled strands she was working on.  
  
"Hey!" she protested, looking to see what had elicited such a reaction and turning seven shades of scarlet as a result.  
  
Kurt squatted self-consciously on the wooden floorboards, wearing a thick but short towel knotted around his waist and very little else. This veritable scrap of material just about maintained his modesty, but left very little to the imagination, and he pulled at it awkwardly, trying - and failing - to stretch it further around himself.   
  
His embarrassment apparently affected his language, and he mumbled inaudibly, flitting between Common and Germanic as the two girls tried to look anywhere but at him - no mean feat in such a limited space.  
  
"Es tut mir leid. I'm so, so sorry, ladies. Sie nahmen meine Kleidung.... My clothing.... To wash, they said.... Dieses ist, ich versichern Ihnen nur temporär, daß.... a temporary state of affairs.... mindestens, ich hoffe es bin, sowieso.... I'm so very sorry!"  
  
Jubilee found a particularly riveting patch of hair and stared fixedly at it, holding her tongue. Kitty, having no such excuse, was left gazing at a knot in a floorboard close to her bare feet, painfully aware of her own immodesty beneath the blanket so carefully wrapped around her body.   
  
"S'alright, Kurt," she mumbled. "Should be, like, getting used to seeing your hairy chest by now, shouldn't I?"  
  
"Pardon?" Kurt seemed bewildered for a moment, and then recalled his chivalrous action of giving her his shirt in the river. "Oh, right. That."   
  
He struggled for words, vocabulary in either tongue impinged on by discomfiture. He desperately wanted to bolt for the door, but the prospect of running into 'die Blonderkopf' as he'd named her, was infinitely worse than fending off the embarrassment of two teenage girls. Tabby's hands had been a little *too* caring through his fur - something which her brushing lacked in spades. This deadly combination of overly enthusiastic fingers and agonising hair-pulling had been enough to send him running for cover for a week. His fur was incredibly sensitive, and to have it yanked about so was pure torture. It was just plain chance he's escaped into this particular room.  
  
This train of thought led the blue boy back to the reason he'd been searching for Kitty in the first place.  
  
Keeping his golden eyes charily turned aside, he addressed her. "Kitty, do you know where they took Rogue?"  
  
"Nuh-uh, not really," Kitty answered, shrugging. "I don't know any more than you do."  
  
"She's been taken to the Infirmary," Jubilee supplied. "I told you that before. She'll be taken care of there, don't you worry."  
  
"Ach, I can't help worrying Frauline.... I'm sorry, I forget."  
  
"Jubilee."  
  
"Frauline Jubilee. Rogue saved my life. Saved both our lives - and more than once too. It's our fault she's sick. She was defending us against that Displacer Beast - "  
  
Jubilee stopped brushing, brown eyes widening in shock. "Did you just say, 'Displacer Beast'?"  
  
"Yeeees," Kurt drawled uncertainly. ~Uh-oh. Just great, Kurt. Open mouth, insert foot! Kitty must not have told her exactly what happened yet, and there *you* go blurting out our secrets to the first person who takes an interest in them!~   
  
Jubilee's eyes dilated even more, amazement mixed with disbelief clearly evident in them. "But.... but that's impossible. Displacer Beasts are so rare.... they don't even live around these parts. How could one.... How did she.... Wow!" She directed her next comment at Kitty. "So that animal you were talking about....?"  
  
"Yeah. That was it."  
  
"Wow," she vociferated. "I mean *really* wow. Your Rogue must be some piece of work! To my knowledge, nobody's ever fought a Displacer Beast and lived to tell the tale."  
  
"Ja, well...." Kurt murmured. "She's not exactly in a position to tell it at the moment."  
  
The oriental girl clapped a hand over her unknowingly insensitive and runaway mouth. "Oh gods, I'm sorry. I didn't think.... No wonder you're worried about her."  
  
The pair remained silent, and stillness reigned in the enclosed room for several minutes. Each teenager reflected upon their own thoughts and ruminations, a single figure playing a prominent role in all. Two minds focused on their own guilt and hopefulness at a successful recovery, and the third contemplating on how remote such a recovery actually was.   
  
In all recorded history in every known land and realm, no-one who engaged in combat with a Displacer Beast had emerged alive. No-one. The creatures were famous for their unrivalled savagery and killing record. The fact that Rogue had come this far spoke volumes for her resilience, but even she had her limits.   
  
Could it be that this skirmish was to be her last victory?  
  
The tension lingered in the air, interrupted only when Jubilee cleared her throat. This innocent noise seemed ten times louder than usual, and both blue and golden eyes flashed to her face as she spoke the best words of comfort she could come up with without out-and-out lying.  
  
"Our healers are the best, you know. Even the more expensive townie-healers can't compare with them. Remember, we have Changeling-power on our side."  
  
"Your healers are Changelings?" Kurt asked, surprised. He didn't yet know the extent of the Changeling population in the temple.  
  
Jubilee nodded warily. "Well.... one of them is. A little girl, actually. But don't let her age fool you; she's gifted in ways neither you nor I could ever conceive. If anyone can help your friend, it's her."  
  
"Rogue's not a friend," Kurt murmured, half to himself.  
  
The Underling girl seemed confused. "But I thought...."  
  
"Never mind," he snapped from his ponderings like a trap springing back upon its prey. "Es ist ich seiend dumm gerade. Just me being silly."  
  
Silence engulfed them again. Kitty waggled her toes in an effort to think of something vaguely intelligent to say. The weight of Rogue's predicament rested heavily upon them, and even Jubilee's natural buoyancy was muted by the oppressiveness that accompanied the topic.  
  
Finally Kitty piped up. Her voice seemed thin and reedy to Kurt, who had nothing else to concentrate on since he flatly refused to stop staring at the floor. What she said made his tail twitch in mild agitation.  
  
"Kurt, I've been meaning to like, ask you.... um.... what exactly happened out there today?"  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Yeah. You know.... the whole whooshing and moving and getting across the plain in, like, naught seconds flat thing."  
  
"Oh, that."  
  
"Yeah, that. You said something about your 'powers growing in'. Care to, like, enlighten me?"  
  
Kurt sighed. "I'm not sure I can, Kätzchen. It's.... it's difficult to explain."  
  
"Hey, I'm not like, going anywhere. So spill, what did you *do*?"  
  
"It's.... it's like this." The spade of the elf's tail thumped the floor as he carefully worded his explanation. "My people have special powers, something like Changelings' actually, except that ours aren't the result of some unnatural magical disturbance - no offence meant."  
  
"None taken," chorused the girls. Kitty listened avidly, eager to learn more of Kurt's lineage, and Jubilee eavesdropped despite herself, although she carried dutifully on with Kitty's hair. A small tangle of strands removed from the brush sat beside her, signifying the progress she was making.  
  
"There is one major difference between us and other races, though," Kurt continued. "Our females are all seers. They're famous for it. Most towns and cities possess a seer, and invariably she's a Pellae-Azuulle."  
  
"Pellae-Azuulle?" Jubilee raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Uh-huh. Males of our species are called Pella-Azul."  
  
"Why the difference in name?"  
  
"Because of the difference in physiology. Although both genders are of the same species, we differ slightly in that female seeing-powers are present from birth and unchangeable. They learn to use them as they grow up. Males, however, don't gain their powers until adolescence, and even then the type of power they get isn't set in stone. It could be anything. From blowing up tree with a thought, to boiling an egg merely by concentrating on it. They usually appear when the male in question is in desperate need of them. I believe that my powers grew in today."  
  
"When we needed to reach the temple," Kitty surmised.   
  
"The only thing is," Kurt went on, "I never grew up around other Pella-Azul, so I don't exactly know what my power is. All I know is that I needed to be somewhere, and then suddenly I was there."  
  
"Tabby called it something." Kitty screwed up her face, trying to remember the blonde girl's words. "Telli.... Teller...."  
  
"Instant Teleportation," Jubilee supplied. "It means travelling from one place to another using simply the power of your mind. There used to be an Initiate here who could do it, but she left a few months ago to tend to her village in the west, which was attacked by an invading army. That's where our other healer went too. The little girl I told you about - it was her mother."  
  
Kurt's mouth twitched. "The definition sounds right, Frauline, but I don't like the name. Too long. If you don't mind, I think I'll just call it 'Bamfing', on account of that's the noise I made when I did it."  
  
"Do you think you can do it again?" Kitty asked. Kurt nodded, albeit a little uncertainly.  
  
"Jaaaaa. At least, I think so. I *should* be able to do it again. It's like breaking down a gate. Once it's open, one can access the power beyond easily, and bend it to one's will as one sees fit."  
  
"That sounds like what happened to me when the Displacer Beast was about to bite my head off!" Kitty exclaimed. Jubilee's eyes bulged at this casual mention of such a dramatic and glamorous near-death experience, but she held her tongue, interested in their conversation. "It felt like something snapped inside of me, and suddenly I could make my power do what *I* wanted, instead of waiting for it to show up on its own. I could do it again too. It's there, just beneath the surface; waiting for me to tell it what to do. I can feel it."  
  
"Humph," Kurt grunted. A pang of jealousy sprang up in his gut at this statement, and he stood up - careful to make sure the fabric around his waist was doing its job properly. "Well if you can do it, then so can I. After all, es ist meine birthright." He closed his eyes, frowning slightly as he searched for the power at the back of his mind.  
  
"Wait!" Jubilee cried. "Shouldn't you figure out where you want to go first? I mean, you could end up anywhere if you don't. Imagine if you turned up in the courtyard wearing just *that*." She indicated to his less-than-substantial attire.  
  
Kurt glanced down at himself. "Hmm, you may have a point there, Frauline. Perhaps I'll try something smaller to begin with." He took a quick look around and then settled on the wicker chair in the corner. "There. I'll Bamf to there. That should be simple enough. It's only a few feet."  
  
He closed his eyes once more and concentrated hard on the chair. Having hidden beneath it, he knew its texture, the details of the material, the faint musky smell that only his sensitive nose could pick up from its rough fibres. He envisioned it in his mind, willing himself to be there. He wanted to go there. He *needed* to go there. And he had the ability to do so, if only he could force his power to cooperate....  
  
Kitty and Jubilee watched in dual anticipation. An expression of deep and intense concentration briefly crossed Kurt's furry face, knitting his bluer-than-blue eyebrows together.   
  
And then he abruptly vanished in an implosion of collapsing light and faint whiff of brimstone, leaving nothing but a slightly scorched mark on the floor.  
  
Both girls gaped, snorting the smell from their nostrils and waiting for him to reappear on the wicker chair as promised.  
  
One minute passed. Then two.   
  
Still no Kurt.  
  
Kitty bit her lip, and Jubilee's hands ceased their brushing as she waited expectantly for the cerulean boy to rematerialize.  
  
Another minute. Then another. Kitty's forehead puckered in worry.  
  
"He should be back by now. Do you, like, think that everything's OK?"  
  
"Maybe he's just visiting somewhere else first. You know. Testing his limits," Jubilee offered, although she didn't really believe it herself.   
  
"Yeah. Maybe," Kitty replied in a tone that clearly stated she didn't believe it either.   
  
Not a thing stirred. Even the dust motes in the static air stilled themselves. Silence filled the small room, leaking out of the door and extending into the corridor beyond. The tension was almost palpable, and two pairs of eyes ached as they gazed anxiously at a single, inconsequential chair in the corner.  
  
Suddenly, with a blinding flash and rush of evil smelling smoke, a blue figure emerged as if from nowhere, upside down on the ceiling above the chair. He hung in the air for a second, the force and unusual nature of his arrival fleetingly exempting him from gravity. Then, with a slight cry of alarm, he fell inelegantly to the floor, a mass of flailing limbs and fuzz.  
  
"Kurt!" Kitty cried, but the happy shout died in her throat as he struggled to right himself.   
  
He was covered in a generous amount of white powder, and kept sneezing intermittently as the fine particles got into his nose. Accompanying this was a large globule of something black and sticky on his head. This viscous liquid stuck to his hair and face, and was already covered in a film of navy fur and lint.   
  
In all he made for a curious picture, and the fact that he was wedged behind the chair did nothing to help the situation. Neither did the fact that his towel had slipped, revealing far too much flesh around the base of his tail. Both Kitty and Jubilee whipped their eyes away from the sight of Kurt's waggling behind until he'd extricated himself and righted his raiment accordingly.   
  
"Like, where the heck have you *been*?" Kitty demanded, somewhat angrily. Annoyance replaced the worry she'd felt but a moment ago, and her blue eyes flashed at Kurt's apparently wayward excursion whilst she was concerned for his safety.  
  
"The kitchens, I think," Kurt replied, dusting himself off and getting a handful of sticky black substance for his troubles. "At least, it was a big hot room filled with ovens and mountains of food. And people too. Lots and lots of people, all working and cooking and preparing fare I've never even seen before."  
  
"Yep, they're the kitchens alright," Jubilee said. "The cooks will be getting breakfast ready around about this time. You probably landed right in the middle of things."  
  
"In more ways than one. Aachoo!" Kurt sneezed, sending a cloud of white into the air. "I don't seem to be able to Bamf in at ground level. I didn't even want to *go* to the kitchens! I was hungry, yes, but I didn't think that would affect my powers. Yet the next thing I know I'm perched on top of a huge stack of shelves, which promptly fall over, catapulting me into a pile of flour sacks - hence the new look." He wiped some rapidly congealing white muck from the corner of one golden eye and extended a glutinously covered tridactyl hand. "I have no idea what this horrible black stuff is though. Urgh."  
  
"That would be treacle," Jubilee told him matter-of-factly. "A delicacy from the east, and usually reserved for the Temple Mother herself. She won't be pleased you've wasted it on a fashion statement."  
  
"Hey, it's not like I *wanted* to or anything," Kurt protested. "This stuff is awful. It's all in my fur and...yeuch. I'm never going to get all of it out."  
  
"How did it like, get there?"   
  
Kurt sighed. "Big mess from fallen shelves on floor. Really big, angry guy in a robe. Pan of treacle nearby. Kurt as good available target trying to get out of burst flour sacks. Splat. Does that answer your question, Kätzchen?"   
  
"More or less." Kitty stifled a giggle, and hid her upturned mouth beneath her hand. Kurt glanced sharply up at her.  
  
"And what's so funny?" he exacted hotly.  
  
"Nothing," Kitty answered, shoulders perceptively shaking. Jubilee emitted a tiny snort, and bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud.   
  
Kurt glared at her. "You too?"  
  
"We can't help it, Kurt. You're like, so *funny*, standing there in a towel and covered in nothing but flour and goop. You've gotta, like, admit, it's not exactly imposing."  
  
Kurt reached up to scratch behind his ear - something he always did when embarrassed or discomfited. "I really don't see what's so.... urgh!" His palm came away plastered with black paste and fur, which dripped tackily onto the floorboards through his thick fingers.   
  
He stared at it for a second, before a faint smile tugged at the sides of his lips. "I don't advise anyone to try this beauty treatment," he said at last, and stuck one finger into his mouth. "Mmm, tasty though."  
  
"Aw, Kurt! That's disgusting!"  
  
"Not for me it isn't, Kätzchen." Kurt grinned toothily. "I haven't eaten in hours. Here, you should try some." He held out his coagulating hand.  
  
"No thanks, I'll pass."   
  
Jubilee beamed. After her tactless words earlier, she was glad her two guests were still able to laugh and joke around. Humour in a time of crisis was a boon indeed, and since the fate of their companion hung so delicately in the balance, it was best not to dwell upon such depressing thoughts any longer than was absolutely necessary. She smiled, a genuine smile.   
  
She made friends easily, and Kurt's easy-going nature appealed to her. He seemed to have a natural sense of fun that matched her own. And Kitty was OK too, once you got past all the whining and complaining. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad having them around here after all. This old place could certainly do with some livening up. She grinned mischievously.  
  
"Seriously, though." Kurt stopped chuckling, even though his smirk remained firmly in place. "I have to get cleaned up. If this treacle sets I'm *really* in trouble."  
  
"I dunno," Kitty tipped her head sideways. "It could be, like, a whole new look for you. Anyway, at least you've proved that you can Bamf on command now."  
  
"Yeah, but actually getting to my destination needs some work, Ich denke."  
  
"Not to mention your landings," Jubilee added impishly.   
  
"Oh ha ha, a regular comedian, aren't you."   
  
Jubilee began braiding Kitty's newly freed hair. "You're both gonna need baths, if you don't mind me saying so. Now I've sorted out this mess, I'll see what I can do about getting you washed."  
  
"Danke schon, Frauline," Kurt said gratefully. He sniffed deeply, and then pulled a face. "You two should be grateful for your puny, human noses. I've got the grime *and* the smell to contend with, and believe me, I reek."  
  
"Oh, we know." Kitty wrinkled her nose. "Believe me, we, like, totally know."  
  
"Danken Ihnen sehr viel, Sie kleiner Schauspieler."  
  
Jubilee looped a piece of string around the end of Kitty's braid and threw the tight knot of hair over the other girl's shoulder.  
  
"All done." She wiggled sideways and jumped off the mattress. "Now, about those baths - "  
  
"Don't you *dare*, Jubilation!" a shrill voice suddenly shrieked through the empty air.   
  
All three teenagers winced at the grating noise, and Kurt even went so far as to cover his sensitive ears with his hands before a bolt of pink and blonde shot through the open doorway and latched onto him.   
  
"Fuzzy here is *my* responsibility, and mine alone!" Tabitha said decisively, shooting a positively murderous glance in Jubilee's direction. "I'll take care of any bathing for him."  
  
"Götter helfen mir," Kurt mumbled, face a picture of despair as the enthusiastic girl gripped his arm firmly and began dragging him out of the room. "How did she find me?"  
  
"Your little friend over there told me to check the kitchens for you. I was just about to give up looking when you popped in. Caused quite a stir too. And I must say, you look real cute as a blonde. Kinda like me." She smiled a cherry red smile; voice dripping with saccharine infested tenderness.  
  
"Kätzchen! Frauline Jubilee! Außer mir von der Teufel-Frau! Help me!"  
  
"Oh no you don't, cutie. You're not getting away from me so easily this time. I'm gonna keep a special eye on *your* pretty little behind."  
  
"Hilfe!"  
  
*******************  
  
*TRANSLATIONS*  
  
GERMANIC  
  
'Blonderkopf' ~ (Literally) Blonde-head  
'Der Siedämon' ~ The She-demon  
'Sie ist ein Haar-Ziehen, blonde, gräßliche Teufel-Frau mit einer Stimme wie Nägeln auf einer Tafel.' ~ She is a hair-pulling, blonde devil-woman with a voice like nails on a chalk-board.  
'Ebene und einfaches' ~ Pure and simple.  
'Sie nahmen meine Kleidung' ~ She took my clothes.  
'Dieses ist, ich versichern Ihnen nur temporär, daß....' ~ This is only temporary, I assure you....  
'Mindestens, ich hoffe es bin, sowieso....' ~ At least, I hope it is anyway...  
'Es ist ich seiend dumm gerade' ~ It's just me being silly  
'Ich denke' ~ I think.  
'Danken Ihnen sehr viel, Sie kleiner Schauspieler' ~ Thank you very much, little actor/pretender.  
'Götter helfen mir' ~ Gods help me.  
'Außer mir von der Teufel-Frau!' ~ Save me from the devil-woman!  
'Hilfe!' ~ Help! 


	12. Blood On The Wood

DISCLAIMER: X-Men: Evo belongs to Warner Bros. And Marvel Comics. I have never, and shall never own them, no matter how much I may want to. I've simply warped them to fit my own twisted mind. However, this fic and any original work herein is officially mine, and anyone trying to steal it will find out how painful a weapon a computer mouse can when used by someone with imagination.  
  
WARNINGS: This is an AU (Alternative Universe) fic. Everything has been transplanted into a fantasy universe of my creation. Inspirations, despite what you might initially think, aren't actually from a certain Peter-Jackson-esque film project, since I started work on this before I ever *saw* those movies. Influences rather include InterNutter's spiffy fic 'Mein Teuful' (if you haven't yet read this then go do it *now*!) and various other sources I'll explain later.  
  
CODES:   
Hello = Narration  
~ Hello ~ = Thought  
"Hello" = Character Speaking  
*Hello* = Bold  
//Hello// = Psychic communication  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sorry I haven't updated this one in a while, but I kept being bitten by other plotbunnies, the results of which can be found in my account here on ff.net. You can all thank Harry Wriggle for this chapter being brought out at all; since it's primarily because of her prodding that I took the time to tweak it. So here you go, Harry. I hereby dedicate this chapter to you, and all your wonderful arty goodness. And I'll dedicate the next instalment to whomsoever writes a New Mutants fic (and tells me they have. Can't very well dedicate anything if I don't know any names), since I'm of the firm belief they don't get nearly as much attention as they deserve.  
  
You watch, now I've said that they won't get *any* attention whatsoever. What's that great cloud of dust? Oh, that's just all the fanfic authors running for the hills so Scribbler leaves them alone in her gods-awful Author's Notes.  
  
My fanfic competition is still running (how many times have I said that now? I'll shut up when I get some flippin' entries!), and now it's all official on InterNutter's site. Just go look in the contest section on the sidebar. There aren't any actual entries yet (hint-hint), but the rules and stuff are all up for your reading pleasure.  
  
'Step we gaily, on we go....'  
  
*******************  
  
'Of Beast And Blade' By Scribbler  
Chapter Ten ~ 'Blood On the Wood'  
  
*******************  
  
'The consciousness of being deemed dead is next to the presumable unpleasantness of being so in reality. One feels like his own ghost unlawfully tenanting a defunct carcass'. ~ Herman Melville  
  
*******************  
  
"Oh, like, quit your whining, Kurt."  
  
"But it still hurts. She didn't even check the water before she pushed me in. I ache all over from the blisters."  
  
"Don't worry, I'm sure someone in the Infirmary can give you something for it."  
  
"Danke Frauline, but I'm afraid the only thing that will make me feel any better is having Underling Blonderkopf move many miles away. Preferably on a permanent basis."  
  
The three teenagers were seated in a small anteroom adjoining the main Infirmary - this being the only place for them until they were properly clothed. As of yet, Kurt and Kitty lacked any proper raiment, and were forced to content themselves with bedding sheets wrapped in toga-like styles around their respective bodies. The costumes were flimsy and not particularly warm, but a good sight more reasonable than the costume of the 'towel-incident' as it was now known.   
  
The only person who truly liked these makeshift costumes was Tabitha, who revelled in sitting as close to Kurt as she could on the small wooden bench, and tousling any bit of blue fur poking through the folds of white fabric that she could reach. The only reason for her current absence was a summons she'd received from an Initiate on the other side of the building, but she'd taken great pleasure in assuring the furry youth that she'd be; 'Right back, and not to worry about a thing, darling.'  
  
Jubilee sat pseudo-demurely in a practised sedate position next to Kitty on another bench across the room. The space was little bigger than the room they'd been in before, except that this one contained a window and several tall cupboards - one of which Kurt was now perched atop, in a pose the two girls could only marvel at.   
  
Jubilee sighed. "You're not the only one. I've had to deal with her for three years - three years! - as a roommate."  
  
"You guys share a room?" Kitty sounded incredulous.  
  
"A dormitory, actually. Good job too. If we were on our own, we probably would have killed each other by now."  
  
"I can imagine," Kurt said, dangling upside down across the top of one cupboard, using only his curiously formed feet as leverage. "I've had some violent thoughts towards her myself, and I haven't even known her that long."  
  
"Well I think that you're both, like, cruel. Tabby can't be *that* bad." Kitty folded her arms, but Jubilee only shook her head.  
  
"You'll see. But don't say we didn't warn you."  
  
Kurt took this opportunity to launch himself off the cupboard, twirling in mid-air to land gracefully on four feet in the centre of the room, tail lashing furiously for balance.  
  
"Stop it, Kurt," Kitty warned him. "That's, like, the third time you've done that. You're making me dizzy just watching you. Give it a rest, already."  
  
"I can't help it, Kätzchen," Kurt apologized. "I'm bored."  
  
Kitty glanced sharply at him, reading the deeper meaning in his flippant words. "Yeah, I'm worried about her too. But they said they'd let us know soon."   
  
"It's just so frustrating!" His spaded tail thumped the floor in agitation. "I mean, I know they're doing all they can to help Rogue, but I still feel so worthless. Like I could be doing something.... anything, instead of sitting around here like a spare part."  
  
"Well, technically speaking, you're not really 'sitting around'," Jubilee pointed out, referring to the numerous displays of fretfulness-induced acrobatic displays they'd borne witness to since Tabby left. "And I have to say, Kurt, that if you *were* in there with them," she jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the wall behind her; the only thing standing between them and whatever was happening to Rogue. "If you *were*, you'd probably be doing more harm than good. It never pays to get in a healer's way when he or she is working."  
  
"I suppose," Kurt conceded sullenly. "But I just feel so *useless*!"  
  
Quietly, Kitty rose from her seat and crouched beside him, encircling his shoulders with one skinny arm. "Me too. But we have to have faith and keep hoping. It's all we can do now."  
  
Kurt turned to look at her, face mere inches from hers. His golden eyes were full of anguish, and Kitty was startled to see them shine with unshed tears.  
  
"Faith? Hope?" he murmured. "What good did that ever do anyone?"  
  
"Hope has kept more people alive than all the fighting in all the realms ever did," a deep, resonant voice answered.   
  
All three teenagers looked to the doorway, taken aback at this verbal intrusion upon them. The thick oaken door was slightly ajar where Tabby had forgotten to close it, and as they watched it creaked slowly open.   
  
Jubilee uttered a stifled gasp at the figure that was revealed, and quickly scrambled from the bench and fell to her knees, muttering, "Gods, praise be to thee and the one with which I am now faced. By all that is holy, I prostrate myself before the mercy of she who resides in Earth-Realm."  
  
Kurt and Kitty were shocked at her sudden behaviour and curious speech. It was as if the oriental girl was reeling off words she'd long since committed to heart, and the pair looked to the one who could reduce the usually bubbly Jubilee to a reverential bundle, face pressed against the floor.  
  
The figure was tall and more than a little imposing set against the bright backdrop of the torch-lit corridor beyond. Upon closer inspection it became apparent it was a woman, but one such as they had never seen before.   
  
She stood with her hands carefully folded in the wide sleeves of a magenta robe, and gave off a near palpable aura of calm without having to move a muscle. As she stepped into the room, an air of age-old wisdom followed, flowing from her long white hair and making her mahogany skin glow with an inner radiance that diminished the poor trickle of sunlight leaking in through the window. She literally seemed to ooze authority and power, yet it was tinctured by a sense of benevolence and compassion.   
  
She gazed at them both for a moment through fathomless azure eyes, before settling her focus on Kurt, who found he could not look away no matter how much he tried.  
  
"And what use is faith, you ask? Faith has given those same people the will to live on, just as hope empowers their drive to exist in situations so dire, they would have them perish a thousand times over."  
  
Kurt simply stared at her, chin dropped onto his chest, wondering what to say. Something about this woman's presence made him feel instantly alarmed, but at the same time, curiously at ease. Either way, he was lost for words.  
  
The strange woman transferred her eyes to Jubilee, and smiled - not unkindly. "Raise yourself, little one. All are equal within these walls. I will have no-one bow to me as if I were of any more importance than them."  
  
Jubilee peered up at her. "But you're so much greater than I. How can I not bow to you?"  
  
The white-haired woman shook her head. "I am like yourself; no more and no less. I deserve no more awe than you give or are given by your contemporaries. Now child, please, stand up and be seated once more. Benches are for sitting and floors are for standing, not lying down on."  
  
Jubilee gave a half-hearted chuckle, and returned to her seat, brown eyes never leaving the newcomer's face.  
  
For her part, the dark-skinned woman turned back to Kurt and Kitty, who still crouched together on the floor, having frozen in place at her entrance.  
  
"And you, honoured guests. Will you not also take your seats? Unless I am interrupting something by asking you to do so?"  
  
The pair jumped apart, Kitty dropping the arm she'd held around Kurt like a hot coal. Kurt scuffed his foot self-consciously as he edged back to his bench, and Kitty shuffled back to her place, obviously embarrassed at the warm moment they'd been caught in.  
  
The room was silent for a moment, none of the people in it knowing quite what to say, or else unbothered by the quiescence. The door still stood open, creating a carpet of flickering torchlight that wreathed the newcomer woman in an almost ethereal lustre.  
  
Kurt cleared his throat, and warily broke the silence. As he spoke, he suddenly became aware of how young he sounded. How immature and naïve. "Excuse me, but.... who are you?"  
  
Jubilee shot him an appalled look at his directness. When she spoke it was in a tone ringing with comportment, and quite different to the way she usually talked. "Kurt, don't be so forthright; she doesn't have to answer our petty questions. Hold your tongue."  
  
Yet the woman only chuckled - a warm, friendly sound. "There's no need to be so formal, Jubilee."   
  
Jubilee blushed at the familiar use of her name by such an influential person.   
  
"It's only natural that he has questions to which he desires answers. That's why I called in, actually. To enlighten you a bit. It must be difficult, suddenly finding yourselves in a strange place with strange people."  
  
"Ja."   
  
"Like, totally."  
  
She nodded. "My name is Ororo the White, and I am the Mother of this, the Temple of the Way."  
  
"Ororo?"  
  
"Yes. It's not a name you are familiar with, I'm sure. It is an Eastern name, from the far deserts, where sand is plentiful like water and water is as precious as diamonds."  
  
Kitty blinked. "*You're* the Temple Mother? Does that, like, mean that you're in charge around here?"  
  
"I am the guiding figure of this Temple. I oversee all that goes on, and offer my advice and skills when they are needed. So, yes, I suppose you could say that I'm 'in charge'."  
  
"Oh." Kitty couldn't think what to say. Jubilee had only mentioned the Temple Mother in passing, and never said what she was like. She'd envisioned a maternal old woman, weighed down with years and hard labour. Ororo was nothing like she'd imagined. Youthful, composed and beautiful in an exotic, unconventional way, she looked more like an Eastern desert princess than a member of a temple, never mind a Temple *Mother*.  
  
Ororo looked at them both. "Is that all? Surely you have more questions than that. I assure you, I won't bite."  
  
"Ok, then." Kurt hopped up into a more comfortable position, crouching cat-like on the back of the bench. "First things first. We're both very grateful for your kind hospitality in taking us in and tending to us even though you didn't know who we were, but now I have to ask, what exactly *is* this place? I mean.... I know it's a temple, but.... but...."  
  
Ororo crossed the room and leaned her palms on the windowsill, looking out onto the courtyard below. "A good question. I have told you that this is the Temple of The Way, but I'm not surprised that you don't understand what 'The Way' is. Let me explain." Here she paused, as if searching for the right words. Kurt and Kitty listened expectantly, and Jubilee watched with ill-concealed reverence for the older female who'd taken her in as a freakish starving waif and cared for her like a member of her own family.  
  
"The Temple of the Way used to be one of many temples and sanctuaries devoted to the simpler aspects of life. Now we are but one, the last of our kind, and thus, also the last of an era." She sighed. "I'm not explaining things very clearly. Let me try again. Temples are usually houses of gods, as you well know. However, this is where we differ slightly from the norm. 'The Way' is more a style of living that is practised and taught here. We devote ourselves to spirituality rather than a specific deity. Modern life has distanced mortals from whence they came. Many do not remember their humble roots in the wilderness, and 'The Way' aims to remind them of this and so help them better understand the world in which we live. Do you understand?"  
  
They nodded, albeit a little warily.   
  
"A back to nature type deal," Kitty summarized.  
  
"Yes," Ororo replied. "Usually, we're a refuge for people trying to achieve more of a balance with the natural world, as well as giving aid and shelter to those who pass this way. But of late, we have become rather inundated with.... special cases who need our help."  
  
"Changelings."  
  
"Yes. You're very perceptive Mr..."  
  
"Kurt. Just Kurt."  
  
"But how come there are so *many* Changelings here?" Kitty asked. "I mean, this place is, like, teeming with them - us. Whatever. Why do they all come *here*. Surely it'd be better if they stayed in their own towns and villages and let the world know about Changelings and what's happening to the... uh, the magical fabric of the realms."  
  
"You make a valid point, Miss...."  
  
"Pryde. Kitty Pryde. Or you could choose a nickname. I've acquired, like, plenty in the last couple of days."  
  
"I think I'll stick to Kitty. And in answer to your question, the reason so many Changelings seek shelter within our walls are countless and varied. Sometimes they are simply poor souls whose homes - for one reason or another - are no more, and subsequently have no place else to go. Being a Changeling is incidental. Other times, they feel ashamed of their powers. They don't understand what they are, and find their way here by accident. However, these types of scenarios are not always the case." She sighed. A small, sad sigh. "You see, as with all things, not all people are so.... accommodating to Changelings. Some folks believe that they're evil spirits. Demons that need to be cast out. They fear what they cannot understand, and from fear springs hate and violence. The majority of Underlings and Initiates here have been forcibly driven from their homes by frightened people they'd once called friends. They come to us seeking sanctuary and a friendly ear, which we readily give to anyone who asks for it. Over time, we've become known as the one place Changelings can go and be sure of protection, and so more Changelings join us to learn about their new abilities and escape the prejudice that hounds them in the outside world. Our numbers have swelled, but we never turn away a new member. We never have, and we never will, so long as I'm Temple Mother."  
  
Kurt and Kitty sat in silence.  
  
"I had no idea," Kitty said at last. "I lived so far away from other people, I didn't even know what a Changeling *was* until recently."  
  
"Society just isn't ready to accept Changelings properly," Ororo said, matter-of-fact. "But I believe they will - in time. When they learn to see that they're no threat. That they're just human beings who have been given incredible gifts."  
  
" 'They'? Aren't you, like, a Changeling, too?"  
  
"Kitty!" Jubilee hissed. "Don't ask such a personal question. It's rude."  
  
Kitty cast her a sidelong glance. ~Since when did Jubilee start caring about politeness? Perhaps this Ororo woman has, like, more clout around here than we realise. She sure doesn't show it, though. She seems so.... so down to earth and sensible. Not at all like I would have expected.~  
  
Ororo, though, didn't seem to care about such a probing question being asked of her, and answered it placidly. "No, I'm not a Changeling. But I'm not exactly human, either. Let's just leave it at that for now, shall we?"  
  
"But - "  
  
"Now, I think it's my turn to ask *you* two some questions." She turned around to face them, leaning her back against the sill. "My first and foremost priority is the safety and well being of my 'children' and this Temple, so I hope you'll allow me a few queries in favour of their security?"  
  
Kitty and Kurt exchanged a look. Could they really trust her? True, she and the other Temple dwellers they'd met so far had shown them nothing but kindness and generosity - well, everyone except that 'Ray' at the front gate - but then again, so had the innkeeper in Zanninsa, and look what had happened when they trusted *him*.   
  
Yet still.... it was difficult not to believe the authenticity of Ororo. There was just something about her that prompted trust.   
  
Kurt glanced at her. Even with his well-trained eye he could detect nothing but sincerity in her stance. Virtually nobody could hide everything in his or her body language. There was always something - a nervous tic, increased blinking, a twitchy nose - that indicated when a person was being less than truthful. Yet he could see nothing of this nature in her.  
  
Kitty watched Kurt earnestly, waiting for his decision. She trusted his judgement, and when he nodded that they should answer the Temple Mother's questions, she didn't dispute his assessment of the situation. A kind of unspoken trust - shared partially by Rogue - had grown up between the two adolescents as they trekked ceaselessly through Germania and into Österrik. A bridge of belief in each other stretching between them in light of what they'd been through together since they met such a short time ago.  
  
"Sicher, bitten Sie weg." Kurt replied. Then added: "Ask away," by way of translation.  
  
Ororo look at Kurt for a moment, scrutinizing. "You're from Germania?"  
  
"Ja, why?"  
  
"Oh, no reason." Ororo waved her words away with her hand. "Now, please tell me; I know your names, but I do not know truly *who* you are, nor your purpose in coming here. Miss Kitty, you are a Changeling, so perhaps I could comprehend your motives. But you, Herr Kurt, I perceive to be of a different race, and so your reasons are a mystery to me."  
  
"It's true, I'm not a Changeling," Kurt affirmed, flexing his feet to release the stiffness in his oddly shaped toes. "I'm of a race called Pella-Azul. Perhaps you've heard of it?"  
  
"Pellae-Azuulle?" For a moment Ororo's demure mask slipped, and she looked shocked - maybe even a little bit frightened, but this swiftly vanished, and those who saw it wondered if it had really been there at all.  
  
Kurt cocked his head. "No, I'm a *Pella-Azul*. But how do you know about - "  
  
"A traveller passed through here once and told stories of your people," she said quickly. Perhaps too quickly. "Please, continue with your story. How did you come to be in Österrik if you live in Germania? It is a dangerous, gruelling journey through the Black Forest. One which I'm sure could not have been prompted without due reason."  
  
Once again, golden eyes met blue as Kurt and Kitty wondered how much precious information they should divulge. Rogue's life - and perhaps even their own - may be at stake if they told the wrong person of her identity, but they couldn't really explain their presence without saying exactly who she was and the nature of their quest. No matter what Ororo had said, they both still nursed the fear that they and Rogue would be thrown out of the Temple should her reputation become known, and she would most certainly perish if abandoned that way before she was fully healed.   
  
It was this final notion that spurred the duo into answering.  
  
"You have to, like, promise that what we say, like, *never* leaves this room," Kitty demanded.  
  
"You have my word."   
  
"Mine too," Jubilee broke in, reminding them she was still there. "I'll keep it a secret until my dying day if you let me stay." She emphasized what she said by jumping to her feet and firmly closing the wooden door leading out into the corridor. Something in her eyes told them that she wished to remain predominantly because of Ororo - whom she obviously admired very much - but neither Kurt nor Kitty commented on this. Instead, they both nodded.  
  
"Fein." Kurt drew a deep breath. "Ach, this is hard. We've... embarked upon a quest along with our companion - the girl who was brought into the Infirmary when we arrived. Our... companion wishes to reach a... a certain destination, and we - for various reasons - have decided to join her on her long journey."  
  
"That sounds innocent enough," Ororo said indolently.  
  
"No, it's not, simply because of the identity of our companion."  
  
She raised an eyebrow. "Why? Who is she?"  
  
Kurt met Kitty's gaze one last time for reassurance that they were doing the right thing. She nodded. It was too late to back out now. Everything rested on how the two Temple dwellers reacted to this next piece of information.  
  
"She's The Rogue of The Guild of Assassins."  
  
Jubilee gasped, and Ororo's incalculable blue eyes widened in surprise. The tension in the air hung so thick you could have easily cut it with a blunt knife, and both Kurt and Kitty waited with bated breath to see what would happen next; hoping against hope that the response would be a positive one, and they hadn't just ruined everything for both Rogue and themselves with their wagging tongues.  
  
It was Jubilee who spoke first. "I never guessed... when you called her 'Rogue', it never clicked that... wow! So the Displacer Beast... that's how she was able to... wow!"  
  
"I can see why you were reluctant to tell me," Ororo said slowly. Then she smiled. "But I'm glad you decided to be honest in the end."  
  
The two teenagers let out a mutual sigh of relief. It was going to be OK. Neither Jubilee nor Ororo were about to send word to Rogue's pursuers from the Guild telling them where she was hiding. Nor were they about to turn the trio out on their ears for seeking shelter for a dangerous and wanted 'felon' within their peaceful walls.  
  
Ororo's eyebrow rose again. "What was that about a Displacer Beast?"  
  
"That's the reason we were forced to come here, otherwise we would probably have passed by," said Kurt.  
  
"Last night, Kurt and I were, like, attacked by a Displacer Beast in the river, but Rogue, like, protected us from it. She fought and killed it, but was poisoned by its spines for her troubles," Kitty put in, anger in her voice.  
  
"I see." Ororo folded her arms. "Quite the formidable fighter, isn't she. I've never heard of a Displacer Beast being vanquished by a mere *human* before. This 'Rogue' must be a girl of incredible strength of spirit."  
  
"She sure is." There was a hint of inexplicable pride in Kitty's voice, and Kurt glanced sharply at her, wondering what it signified. Yet Kitty appeared not to have noticed this subconscious kindliness towards the girl who'd threatened her with a knife to her throat, so Kurt just smirked and let it go.  
  
"She really knows how to pick her opponents." Jubilee leaned forward in her seat; excitement dancing plainly in her slanted brown eyes.  
  
"You have no idea," Kurt muttered.  
  
Ororo looked at him. "And what signified *that* remark, Blauhaut?"  
  
"Wha... oh, nothing," he stuttered, caught slightly off his guard that she had heard him. This, combined with her use of his native tongue, served to confuse him enough so that his words didn't fool anyone.  
  
Jubilee leaned forward again, resting her hands on her knees. "Oh come on. You can't just say something like that and then leave us hanging here. Spill, Kurt."  
  
Kurt looked from one to the other, feeling slightly put upon. "It's not my place to say."   
  
Jubilee gave a derisive snort, but Ororo regarded him quizzically. "You keep the secrets of others as well as your own, don't you Kurt? Tell me; is it worth it to protect The Rogue? One whose soul is tarnished with the sins of her past career?"  
  
Kurt looked at the floor. "But there's more to her than that. Everyone hears the stories about her, but they forget that she's just a person. She has feelings, just like you or me, and they can hurt and feel betrayal. True, she's done a lot of terrible things. But when soldiers are sent into battle, they do just as many in the name of their work. She trusted us by telling us her secrets, and she doesn't trust people easily. It has to be earned and deserved. If - *when* she wakes up, if I'd betrayed that trust, then.... then I...."  
  
"Hush, child." Ororo held up a hand to quiet him. "You don't have to tell me if you don't wish to. Guilt is a heavy mantle to bear, and I won't burden you with it."  
  
Jubilee looked slightly vexed at this, but didn't question the older woman's decision. In the Temple of The Way - no matter what she said or how much she protested - the Temple Mother's word was law. If she chose not to press either Kurt or Kitty for their information, then it was not up to anyone else to pry where she herself would not tread.  
  
Kurt gazed at her, puzzlement warring with thankfulness behind his great golden eyes. "Thank you.... for not forcing me."   
  
"I can tell that The Rogue is more to you than just a fabled escapee." Ororo shrugged, "But I must confess, I have my own personal theories concerning the nature of this 'quest' of which you speak. Would you allow me to voice them?"  
  
"I.... I don't see why not."  
  
Ororo nodded. "I shall say only two things, and leave you to interpret them as you will." She paused dramatically for a second. "The Silver Sword and Belvedere."  
  
Kitty drew a sharp intake of breath, and Kurt's eyes took on the appearance of two new moons.   
  
"How did you... what... who told you..." Kitty faltered, with Kurt adding his own exclamations in fevered Germanic.  
  
"I do not *know* anything. As I said, I have a theory, which seems to have been proved correct if your reactions are anything to go by. And don't look so worried, Kurt. You told me nothing. I guessed by myself by my own methods. You are absolved from all moral blame."  
  
Kurt stared at her. "How did you... guess?"  
  
"Displacer Beasts are not native to this region. The Silver Sword is famous for owning one that he captured many years ago. He does not send his pride and joy out lightly, either. Coupled with this, Belvedere is the only inhabited place before the mountains and the border. If you were going anywhere, it was to Belvedere."  
  
Jubilee's brown eyes shone. "Then it's true? You really *are* going up against the Silver Sword? In his own stronghold too? Wow!"  
  
"No, we're not!" Kitty replied sharply. "We're travelling to Belvedere, but only to see someone that Rogue knows there, not to fight any Silver Sword. That's just crazy talk!"  
  
Ororo cut in. "So what exactly *did* you intend to do once you reached your destination? It is unlikely that a girl like The Rogue would be undertaking such a journey and risking so much without some kind of reward at the end of it. If indeed this 'someone' she seeks is at Belvedere, that he or she is no doubt imprisoned there, or else has joined The Silver Sword's forces. Either way, a fight would seem to be the destined result. And if you are with her...." She left the rest unsaid, not needing to continue.  
  
Kitty and Kurt fell into reflective silence, pondering the woman's words. It was true. They'd never even considered what would happen when they eventually got to Belvedere. It was something they'd always shelved as future tense; like the journey itself was the main thing, and what became of them at the end merely incidental. Perhaps it was significant of Rogue's influence on them that they never even considered what she was planning next - for planning she must have been. She was - or had been - an assassin, and planning was therefore an intrinsic part of her nature. Like Ororo said, you didn't just decide one day to head for the cartel of such a powerful person as The Silver Sword without *some* inclination as to why you're doing it. It didn't make sense.  
  
"I guess," Kurt murmured, "We never really thought about it."  
  
Their ponderings, however, were momentarily forgotten; as with a loud creak, the door to the room swung open. Everyone turned to look at who dared to interrupt them, and the tall redheaded girl wreathed with torchlight in the doorway quailed slightly beneath their collectively hostile greeting.  
  
"I'm sorry... I'm interrupting... I'll leave... sorry..."  
  
"No need, no need." Ororo swiftly crossed the small room and drew the girl into it with movements as easy and fluid as liquid silk, yet quietly forceful. "It's only right that you be present at meetings such as this."  
  
"Huh?" Kitty blurted. "I thought you said this was a private conversation? How come *she* can listen in on it?"  
  
The tall girl blushed slightly as Kitty spoke like she wasn't even there, but Ororo casually shut the door again and replied calmly. "Allow me to introduce my acolyte and apprentice, Jean the Grey." She pushed the small of the redhead's back, gently ushering her further into the room.  
  
The one now identified as 'Jean' bent her head until her chin touched her chest and muttered self-consciously. "I shouldn't be here. She's right. It's a private conversation. It's nothing to do with me. I should go."  
  
"My dear, if you are to be Temple Mother some day then it has *everything* to do with you," Ororo corrected her. "Now come, take a seat. I trust your 'errand' went smoothly."  
  
"My... oh, yeah - I mean yes." Jean lowered herself onto the bench next to Kurt, shooting a wary glance at the elf-like boy with his swishing tail perched so close to her head. "Underling Tabitha is now safely stashed in the library sorting some old tomes for Initiate McCoy. She won't be done for another few hours at the very least. I specifically asked Initiate McCoy to find something else for her to do should she finish early, too. So I doubt we'll see her for the rest of the day."  
  
Kurt's jaw dropped open. "*You* got rid Tabby? But... how? Why?"  
  
Jean just shrugged. "I sensed that you weren't comfortable with her presence, and figured you might be a little more open to Ororo's questioning if Tabitha wasn't around, so I set her to do a task on the other side of the Temple. I hope I didn't step out of bounds by taking the initiative?"  
  
"Not at all! Not at *all*!" Kurt assured her. "I'm extremely glad that you *did* get rid of her. I'm just a little bemused over how you knew she was making me uncomfortable. As far as I'm aware, we've never even met before."  
  
Jean looked embarrassed, and began twiddling her fingers in her lap in patent agitation. Apparently she disliked being questioned on this topic, and reacted badly to bombardment with queries.  
  
It was Jubilee who saved her from her own discomfiture-induced muteness, stating bluntly, "She knew, because she's a Teep-and-Teek."  
  
"A what?" Kitty sounded, and looked, more than a little confused. "What's one of those when it's at home?"  
  
Jean answered softly. "I'm telepathic and telekinetic. I can move things with my mind, and... sense more than normal people can."  
  
"Was?" Kurt peered down at her. "You mean like sensitive hearing and the like?"  
  
The older teen swivelled her head to look at him, and Kurt found himself locked with a pair of startlingly green eyes.  
  
//No, but I can do other things.//  
  
He jolted, and toppled off his perch in shock at the unfamiliar, yet symbiotic familiarity of the communication.  
  
"What the - "he began, before hitting the floor with a dull thud. At once he sprang to his feet and, using his tail as a lever, returned to the bench next to Jean. He gaped at her, mystified awe written plainly in his fuzzy features. "*You*! It was *you* I heard in my head. At the riverbank - outside, it was you!"  
  
"Yes, it was me," Jean replied, colouring a bit more. "Your despair was like a beacon telling us where you were, and I needed to bring you to the Temple so that we could help your friend. That seemed the best way of contacting you over a long distance."  
  
"Excuse me." Kitty stood up. "But just exactly *what* is going on here? Kurt, what are talking about? Voices in your head at the riverbank? Care to explain to me what's going on?"  
  
"That was how I knew the way here, Kätzchen," Kurt explained, not taking his eyes from Jean's face. "Frauline Jean here was guiding me via my mind."  
  
"Pardon?" Kitty appeared still to be confused. She folded her arms over her chest and glared reprovingly in Jean's direction.   
  
//Please don't be angry. I meant no harm. I only wanted to help you.//  
  
The strange, voiceless voice penetrated her skull with the not altogether unpleasant sensation of a sharp mental prod. Kitty gasped, having never had anything but her own thoughts inside her head before, and her blue eyes widened in alarm at the sudden invasion. She rapidly recognised Jean's mental voice from when she'd ordered her to stay put outside the main gates, but was still slightly overpowered by the sensation of having someone else inside her head besides herself.  
  
Jean looked pleadingly at her. "I thought that would be the best way of contacting you. I didn't mean any harm by it, honestly. It's just in my nature to use my mind like that. Please don't be offended."  
  
"Frauline," Kurt laid a thick-fingered hand on her shoulder, "If you can get rid of Underling Tabitha as easily as that, then I'll be your friend for life, no questions asked." He smiled a toothy grin.   
  
Jean looked uncertain for a moment, before returning it. It was very hard not to feel at ease with Kurt.  
  
"Well, now that that's all sorted out - " Ororo folded her hands inside her sleeves. But she didn't get to say anything more, for at that moment there was a sharp rapping at the door.  
  
"I'll get it." Jean said, and the handle ostensibly moved by itself as she exerted the other half of her powers. Kitty's eyes widened again, but she said nothing; a sign that 'weirdness' was fast becoming the norm for her.  
  
Jubilee rolled her eyes as the door swung open. "What is this, 'invade the private conversation day'?"  
  
A small girl with blonde hair tied in a simple knot at the nape of her neck stood in the corridor. Little more than a child, she walked uninvited into the room with an air of authority that rivalled Ororo's own. Jean closed the door behind her, and she surveyed those assembled with a critical eye. An air of maturity surrounded her, and Ororo stood.  
  
"Kurt, Kitty, may I introduce Initiate Teah Ashari. Teah, meet Kurt and Kitty, our visitors from Germania."  
  
"Charmed," Teah replied in a clipped, quite un-childlike voice. "One of the Underlings said that you'd be in here, Ororo. Actually, I'm rather glad these two are with you. It means I won't have to repeat myself to them later."  
  
"Teah is our resident healer. She's been taking care of your friend since she arrived." Ororo explained.  
  
"Really?" Kurt exclaimed. "How *is* Rogue? She's going to be alright, isn't she?"  
  
"Please, tell us," Kitty chimed in. "We've been so worried about her. Nobody, like, knows what's going on. She's gonna be fine, right? Please say she's gonna be fine."  
  
"Children, please." Ororo held up her hands for silence at Teah's expression. She knew the healer well enough to recognise when she was annoyed at being interrupted, and equally, knew her sharp tongue well enough to foresee what damage it could do if not allowed to continue speaking.   
  
Kurt and Kitty fell into respective silence, and all four young people listened intently as the Temple Mother conversed with the unorthodox physician.  
  
"How is the girl, Teah?"   
  
Teah sighed. "She was hurt very badly. By the time we got to her, the poison had spread through most of her system. She was, quite literally, hanging on by a thread, and it was difficult to conceive that she'd lasted as long as she had."  
  
"Had? What do you mean 'had'?" Kurt asked worriedly, but was silenced again by a look from Jubilee.  
  
"As I was saying," Teah continued, sending a parallel glare at the elf, "We didn't think she was going to make it, but the fact that she'd hung on against such odds made us try anyway. Evidently, it was the right decision. I used my abilities to force the poison out of her physically. There was a lot of it, I can tell you. It was a long and painstaking process. I had to find out just how far it had got, and then push it out of the openings it'd entered by with my mind. Several times we thought we'd lost her, but always she'd come back to us. It was really, quite amazing."  
  
~That's Rogue,~ Kurt thought to himself. Jean jerked her head up, and he shot her an apologetic look.  
  
//That's alright. Just try not to think so *loud*, OK. I have to get used to tuning out your mental voice so that I don't sense anything I shouldn't.//  
  
~OK.~  
  
Jean winced, but gave him a lopsided smile.  
  
"If you've *quite* finished with your little private conversation!" Teah's annoyed voice dragged them back to reality, and both teens looked culpably at her.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"Traurig."  
  
The Initiate grunted. "The girl had suffered severe wounds to her arm and neck. Removing the spines was difficult, but not impossible. However, it *did* sap a lot of my energy. Consequently, I had little left over to repair the damage to the broken skin and tissue. She'll carry the scars of this little incident for the rest of her life." At this, Teah paused for a moment. Then she sighed.  
  
"I get the impression there's something you're not telling us, Teah," said Ororo.  
  
"There is," the girl replied. "I'm reluctant to enlighten you because it's not good news, I'm afraid."  
  
Kurt's blood ran cold. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Like I said, my energy reserves were severely drained by extracting the poison and repairing what damage I could before its effects set in. We thought we were over the worst when the physical injuries were finally sealed up, but we - I - was wrong."  
  
Kitty toyed distractedly with the edge of her makeshift clothing. She didn't say anything, but her silence spoke volumes. Furtively, she cast a glance at Kurt. His expression was tight, and he gripped the bench so tightly that she was sure the skin beneath his fur must be blanching. His golden eyes didn't blink once as he watched Initiate Ashari, and Jean gave him an odd sideways look. Kitty didn't need telepathy to understand how powerful the waves of worry coming off the elf must be. It was already patently clear in his body language.  
  
"Teah, what is going on?" Ororo asked softly, voice betraying no emotion.  
  
"There were.... complications." A cryptic answer, and not one that inspired any kind of confidence.  
  
"Complications?"  
  
Teah seemed irresolute for a moment, indecision wavering behind her eyes. Finally she took the plunge. "She has Shaking Sickness."  
  
A collective gasp went around the room.  
  
"Shaking Sickness?" Kurt repeated, aghast. "No. Oh please gods, no."  
  
Similar exclamations exited the mouths of Jubilee and Jean, but curiously, Ororo was silent. She only gazed sadly at the healer, exquisite blue eyes filled with remorse. She seemed unperturbed, yet behind her gaze there was a lurch perceptible even to the most untrained eye. As if suddenly, all her hopes had come crashing down in one spectacular shambles, but she couldn't show her disappointment because of her role as the resident maternal figure. Temple Mother. The strong one. The one who was never affected by anything.  
  
Kitty drew her knees up to her chin, rocking a little, eyes wide. Yet still she said nothing. Her mouth seemed frozen, as those four words burned their way through her skull and deep into the recesses of her mind to where a buried memory lay. A memory she'd purposefully locked up a long time ago, too pained to recall it and all that it entailed. Now though, it resurfaced with sickening clarity, bringing home all that she'd wished to ignore. To forget. Her mind swam as it pushed itself to the fore. Bonds broken. Released to force itself upon her reluctant psyche in a flurry of pictures.  
  
[[[Father comes out of the bedroom, face pale and drawn. He seems more exhausted than usual, his light blue eyes solemn and filled with regret. One hand rests against the doorframe, supporting his dwindling weight as his weakened legs can no longer do. He smiles as he sees me, but it's forced. I know something's amiss, and I tell him so.  
  
"Daddy, don't treat me like an idiot. Tell me what's wrong."  
  
He smiles. A sad smile, like he's keeping a secret he really doesn't want to keep.  
  
"Ah, my little Shadowcat. Always so inquisitive. But curiosity killed the cat, you know."  
  
I frown. He's avoiding the question. Not telling me something. He only uses that nickname when he's sad or worried. I adjust the tray in my hands and peer around him into the bedroom beyond; at the small bundle huddled in the bed. But he moves in front of me. I look at him, and see something else in his eyes. He doesn't want me to see. Now I know that something is wrong. I've always been allowed to see her before. I'm bringing her breakfast, just like always. I have to get in to give it to her. I have to get in.  
  
But his eyes. So sad....  
  
"Daddy?"  
  
He sighs, and coughs a little. His chest is getting worse. I can hear it. Soon he'll be confined to bed too, and I'll have to wait on them both. But no matter. I don't mind, as long as they get better.  
  
He looks at me steadily. Searchingly. Then finally, he speaks.  
  
"She has Shaking Sickness."  
  
I gasp, and the tray almost slips from my fingers. Shaking Sickness? No, it can't be true. There's no cure for that. There's no cure for her. No, I can't believe it. I *won't* believe it.  
  
He watches me. Sees my expression. He lays one wide hand on my shoulder in an act of comfort. It's calloused by years of hard toil. His face is pained with losing a loved one; at losing the only woman he ever truly cared for apart from me.   
  
I want to scream at him. To shout, throw the tray down and tell him that she's not dead yet; that there's still hope. But the words hitch in my throat, so instead, I jerk away from his hand. I don't want him to touch me. I want him to take back what he said.  
  
He stumbles as I wrench away from him. Then his face is filled with another kind of pain. I see him lunge forwards, one hand flailing for the doorframe and missing. He slithers to the ground as a coughing fit wracks his body, and lies there at my feet, hacking and wheezing.  
  
The tray clatters to the floor, and I fall beside him. I don't know what to do. There's blood. It's so red. What do I do? What do I *do*? It's coming from his mouth. Oh gods, what's happening. He's so sick, but he was fine only a second ago. What's happening?  
  
I can hear her inside the room, calling for me. Calling for him. She's delirious. But he can't come. I look at him, rub his back and pull at his shoulder.  
  
"Daddy? Daddy!" I call. "Daddy, please get up. Get up, Daddy. She needs you. *I* need you. I can't do this on my own. Please don't leave me. Please don't...."  
  
Blood on the floor. So red. So shiny. Sinking into the cracks and splits of the woodwork. He shakes, a big judder, and then lies still. Daddy?  
  
The coughing's stopped, but I keep calling to him. She's gone all quiet, but I don't get up to look. I'm afraid. Afraid of what I might find in there, curled up in the bed. It won't be her. Not any more. Too quiet. She's gone.  
  
It has no cure.  
  
Daddy? Why won't you wake up, Daddy? Don't you love me any more? Don't you love Mommy? Please, stop it. It's your little Shadowcat, remember? Please. Oh, please....  
  
Blood on the wood. In the wood. Silence in the bedroom. Silence all around us. It's stifling. I'm choking on it. The stench of old blood rises up around me, but I can't move. I can't. I want to be sick, but I just keep on calling until my voice is hoarse. Please, please wake up. Please...  
  
There is no cure.  
  
Daddy?]]]  
  
"Kitty! Kitty, snap out of it!"  
  
Kitty blinked, and stared about her blearily, as if reawakening from a dream.  
  
No, not a dream. A nightmare. A horrible, horrible nightmare.  
  
"Kitty, can you hear me? Kitty?"  
  
Someone was holding her shoulders, joggling her roughly. She turned to face the person, and found herself gazing into a pair worried green eyes.  
  
"Come on, Kitty." Jean jostled her again. "Snap out of it."  
  
Kitty blinked again, horrific images still fresh in her mind. Her lips formed words, but her voice was a barely above a whisper. "Who... J... J... Jean?"  
  
Jean smiled gratefully. "That's right. I'm Jean, remember? Jean the Grey. Come on Kitty. You remember me, don't you?"  
  
"Wh... where?"  
  
"You're at the Temple of the Way. You're safe here."  
  
Safe? Kitty looked around her. No bodies. No plaintive calling. No retching coughs. Just.... safe.  
  
Jean's eyes widened as the younger girl suddenly fell against her, weeping. For a moment, she didn't know what to do. Then, tentatively, she encircled Kitty's shoulders as she'd seen Ororo do to distraught individuals in the past. Kitty's slight frame shook and trembled, and she mumbled a vastly incoherent spurt of words the telepath could only partially make out, since her face was nestled into the shoulder of her robe.  
  
"Breakfast... He was there... so... so sad... And I... I... he fell... Shaking Sickness... Took them both... Why... why me... Why them... never did anyone any harm... Not fair... now... now Rogue... Not again... please, no..."  
  
"Shhh," Jean soothed, stroking the girl's spine. "It's OK. It wasn't real."  
  
The tsunami of emotions coming off her was almost overpowering for the telepath. Pain, dread, fear, and despair - all of them leaked from Kitty's uncensored mind and gathered in the pit of Jean's stomach, making her nauseous. Yet she held on; unwilling to relinquish her hold on the poor girl trembling in her arms because of personal weakness.  
  
Jean had sensed the change in Kitty when Teah uttered those words. It had been almost tangible. Then the images came; thick and fast, and terribly disturbing. What was worse was that they were real. Real memories, repressed for so long they sent Kitty into a trance-like state when they finally broke free. It had taken all of Jean's abilities to bring her back from the edge, and only *she* knew how close the younger female had come to toppling into oblivion and the insanity that awaited there.   
  
Out of the corner of one eye she espied Ororo looking at her. Of all the people in the room, Jean probably had the fairest idea what the Temple Mother was thinking right now. Yet she couldn't say anything whilst Kitty was in such a pitiful state. Perhaps this was what it was like being Temple Mother. Wanting to do something, but not being able to because of the people you were committed to helping. Was this how Ororo felt?   
  
One glance at the older woman's face, with its weary eyes and practised neutrality answered her question in an instant.  
  
Ororo looked at her acolyte as she comforted the distressed girl. Jean was demonstrating exactly why she had been chosen as the next Temple Mother, but Ororo couldn't congratulate herself on her choice now. There were other matters to be attended to.  
  
She crossed the room and drew Initiate Ashari aside. It wouldn't do to have Kitty hear if there was only more bad news since she was already in such a condition.   
  
"Teah, is there nothing you can do for the girl. What are her chances of survival?"  
  
"Slim to none," Teah replied dispassionately.   
  
Ororo blinked. Really, it was quite disconcerting to have a mere child speak of death and dying in such a cold and clinical manner. However, it was part and parcel of her Changeling powers, and Ororo had long since grown used to Teah's oddities; to the point where she hardly even noticed them any more.   
  
"If I still had full use of my healing powers then maybe - just maybe - there might be a chance. But I basically used up everything on the poison and flesh wounds. None of us in the Infirmary even realised about the Shaking Sickness until it was too late. Most likely a dramatic drop in body temperature induced it, possibly by her being wet and exposed to the elements. Either way, her chances of survival are infinitesimal at best. She's barely holding on as it is."  
  
Ororo tried one last time. "So there's nothing you can do?"   
  
"Without another healer, no. All we can do is wait. This girl is a fighter, and no mistake. But I have my doubts as to whether that will be enough in this situation. You know as well as I do that nobody had ever come through Shaking Sickness without a healer's aid."  
  
"Nein!"   
  
Ororo and Teah's heads both snapped up. Kurt glared at them from his perch on the back of the bench, anger smouldering deep in his golden eyes. Previously, he'd been watching Kitty and Jean, but his sensitive ears had easily picked up on their conversation, and what they said had clearly angered him.  
  
"Nein!" he growled again, glowering at them. "She will not die! You don't know Rogue. She'll come through this. She *will*! She's not like other people. She'll succeed where they've failed. Just like she's done before. That's why she's called *The* Rogue. Nobody's ever had the guts to do what she's done before!"  
  
"Kurt - " Ororo began, but he cut her off.  
  
"No! I won't listen to your lies! Don't you understand? She saved my life. I won't just let her fade away and die because of that! She's stronger than you think - than any of us think!"  
  
"Now look here - " Teah tried to reason with him, but Kurt would not be mollified.  
  
"She. Will. Not. Die!" he said slowly and carefully, spaded tail lashing dangerously from side to side. Anybody who knew anything about tailed animals knew the aggressive nature of this movement. Across the room, Jubilee noticed it and began making her way towards him.  
  
"Kurt, stop it," she said. "Teah and her team have done their best for Rogue. They can't help it if the situation's beyond their control now."  
  
"No!" Kurt shook his head. "They haven't done their best. How can they have done their best if *she*," he nodded at the blonde girl, who folded her arms in irritation, "Can just stand there and calmly tell us that there's no hope. That there's nothing we can do!"  
  
"Listen, kid," Teah stepped forward, brows knitted together in displeasure and missing the irony of the epithet, "Let's just say that I *did* have enough of my healing abilities left to get rid of the Shaking Sickness - which I don't. Even then I doubt we'd be able to save her."  
  
"Lies! All lies!"  
  
"No, I'm not lying. You see, the fact is, the problem's not only physical. Your friend has sunk into a state of unconsciousness so deep and intense that even a strong telepath would find it very difficult to break into her mind. She's set up defences so strong they damn near killed one of my team when he tried to fetch her out of it! In short, she's virtually dead anyway. And you know what? It's self-induced too. In a nutshell, She doesn't *want* to wake up!"  
  
"What do you mean?" Ororo queried warily, eyes flicking between the two of them.  
  
"Exactly what I said," Teah replied, keeping her own eyes fixed on Kurt. "The girl's basically trapped inside her own mind. I've seen it before. Sometimes it happens because of outside influence, but the majority of the time, the sufferer has intentionally created a world inside their head and then locked himself or herself inside of it because they no longer want to associate with the outside one. In such cases, it's impossible to revive them. This is one of those cases."  
  
"No!" Kurt yelled, voice filled with remorse and unconcealed pain. "I don't believe you! You're lying!"  
  
"Afraid not."  
  
"Liar!" Before anyone could do anything, he gathered his feet underneath him and launched himself at the healer. "You're a liar! She'd never do that!"  
  
An expression of panic briefly graced Teah's face as the boy flew towards her. His eyes shone, and his lips were pulled back to reveal sharp white fangs embedded among his other teeth. He looked, to all intents and purposes, like a demon of the worst calibre.  
  
However, whatever his thoughts and purposes behind this rash action - perhaps there were none, but he refused to speak about it afterwards, so nobody is entirely sure what the thinking behind attacking the overly-mature child was - Kurt was never allowed to carry them out. He halted in mid air, mere inches away from Teah's face, and floated there uselessly.  
  
Jean still held one arm protectively around Kitty, but the other was stretched out towards the incapacitated Pella-Azul, a physical gesture of the telekinetic power she was applying upon his body. Kurt's arms and legs windmilled, but he remained where he was, glaring and snarling at the individual so audacious as to leave Rogue for dead when there was still life left in her body. Now and then he spared a growl for Jean, but the redhead stayed firm.  
  
"Kurt, stop this!" said Jubilee. "You're being irrational."  
  
Kurt snarled at her. A savage, feral sound. Quite unlike his usual, easygoing demeanour. "irrational? Since when is refusing to abandon someone I care about irrational? Would you just leave Ororo for dead if there was even the slightest chance of saving her from sickness?" He paused, expectantly. "No. I thought not. Can't you see, Frauline? Even if there's the smallest ghost of a chance, I have to take it. I just.... I just can't face losing someone.... Not again.... I refuse to repeat my past mistakes.... I *refuse*!"  
  
Jubilee simply stared at him, taken aback by the vehemence attached to his words. Kurt glared, anger welling up in his gaze. Yet it was impure, tinctured with something else; a desperation so concentrated it all but took her breath away. Obviously there was more to his fervent repudiation than met the eye.  
  
"Kurt.... what do you mean? What past mistakes?"  
  
"Nein, I.... I can't." He turned his head away, biting his lip. How could he have let that slip? His past shame was private. He couldn't let them know how he'd already failed his mother. Her death hung over him like a dark shadow. No, he couldn't let Rogue suffer the same fate for helping him. Mystique had tried to protect him, and it had killed her. He couldn't - wouldn't - let Rogue, or anybody else go the same way.  
  
Jubilee watched as he closed his eyes. All at once he ceased struggling, letting his body go limp in Jean's ethereal hold. It was as if something was weighing heavily upon him, draining his energy.  
  
Had Jean not been concentrating so hard on keeping him airborne, she may have sensed what was going through Kurt's mind. As it was, her attention was already divided between telekinesis and holding together Kitty's fragile grip on reality. If she let go, Kitty would have gone tumbling back into her memories, and this time Jean wouldn't have been able to bring her back. Similarly, if she released Kurt there was still the chance he could go for Initiate Ashari. It was a stalemate.   
  
Jubilee took a tentative step forward. "Kurt?"  
  
No response.  
  
"Kurt?"  
  
It was as if he were sleeping, suspended in midair.  
  
Tentatively, she laid a hand on the white fabric covering his shoulder. It was a comforting gesture, but Kurt's face whipped round, teeth bared.  
  
"Don't touch me! If you're not going to help me save her, then I don't want you anywhere near me!"  
  
Her hand snapped back like it was affixed to a piece of elastic. He looked so.... wild. His eyes were harsh and unforgiving, as if she'd committed the ultimate betrayal by believing what Initiate Ashari had said. That there was no hope. That there was nothing any of them could do to help Rogue.  
  
"Kurt, I - "  
  
"Save it!" was the retort. "Unless you believe and are going to help me. Do you believe me, Frauline Jubilee?"   
  
For a moment his expression was hopeful, almost pleading. Jubilee looked at him, and then was forced to look away. How could she inspire such false hope? It was better that he just accepted the inevitable now. Rogue couldn't survive Shaking Sickness, no matter how strong she was. It was over.  
  
Kurt's face hardened. "Fine then. I don't need you. I don't need any of you. Jean, put me down."  
  
"No, Kurt," Jean replied levelly. "I can't risk you hurting anyone."  
  
"You're hurting Rogue by not letting me down!" he yelled, a new flash of anger appearing in his glare. "Let me go!"  
  
"You're in no frame of mind to - "  
  
"Let me *go*!"  
  
"No."  
  
~LET ME *GO*!~ he mentally screamed.  
  
Jean gasped as his internal voice slashed through her skull, bringing with it a driving pain that only a telepath can feel. It hurt so much, but her resolve remained strong. If he was willing to do this to her just to achieve his own ends, then there was no telling what he'd do if she freed him. His anger and grief was too fresh; too raw. It was colouring his judgement, making him irrational. She had to hold onto him. She had to be strong, as befitted an acolyte.  
  
~PUT ME *DOWN*!~  
  
White hot, searing agony. It hurt so much. Jean gritted her teeth, but it was no use. Her grip on him was slipping. He floated closer to the floor, flailing violently and mentally screeching at her. She was losing her grasp. She was....  
  
Suddenly, a physical voice sliced through their psychic battle. Resonant and filled with sad wisdom, it echoed inside their ears.  
  
"Stop this madness, Kurt. Son of Mystique the Seer."   
  
Everything stopped. Kurt froze, expression stunned. All and sundry halted until even their breaths seemed stilled. It was as if all the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room. All eyes turned to look upon the one who had spoken.  
  
Ororo stood silent before them, face unreadable.  
  
Slowly, and with painstaking apprehension, Kurt swivelled his head to look at her. When he spoke, his voice was shot through with incredulity, and not a little suspicion. "How do you know my mother's name?"  
  
Ororo said nothing. She only watched him through eyes as blue as his hide and twice as impenetrable. Kurt narrowed his gaze, misgiving bubbling inside his gut. He'd never mentioned Mystique's name. So how could Ororo know that he was her son? How did she know such things as *any* of those she'd talked about?  
  
"Who *are* you?"  
  
*******************  
  
To Be Continued...  
  
*******************  
*TRANSLATIONS*   
  
GERMANIC:  
  
'Sicher, bitten Sie weg' - Of course, ask away  
'Blauhaut' - Blue pelt 


	13. As the Raven Flies

DISCLAIMER: X-Men: Evo belongs to Warner Bros. And Marvel Comics. I have never, and shall never own them, no matter how much I may want to. I've simply warped them to fit my own twisted mind. However, this fic and any original work herein is officially mine, and anyone trying to steal it will find out how painful a weapon a computer mouse can when used by someone with imagination.  
  
WARNINGS: This is an AU (Alternative Universe) fic. Everything has been transplanted into a fantasy universe of my creation. Inspirations, despite what you might initially think, aren't actually from a certain Peter-Jackson-esque film project, since I started work on this before I ever *saw* those movies. Influences rather include InterNutter's spiffy fic 'Mein Teuful' (if you haven't yet read this then go do it *now*!) and various other sources I'll explain later.  
  
CODES:   
Hello = Narration  
~ Hello ~ = Thought  
"Hello" = Character Speaking  
*Hello* = Bold  
//Hello// = Psychic communication  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: And how are all we today? I'm fine, if slightly swamped with work. I tell you, I'm seriously starting to wonder about a few of my courses. For American Studies I had to write a 2000 word essay about Disney films. Now, I have nothing against Disney, and after a little research I found that quite a number of people have devoted great amounts of time to chronicling and criticising the company, but when I got halfway through one book and found myself reading a passage including the words 'if Belle and the Beast lived together in real life, she would most certainly have become a battered wife' I had to stop, look in the mirror and tell myself 'they forced you to take this subsid. You didn't ask for it.' Morons.  
  
Slating academia aside, here's the next chappie ready for your consumption. Thanks to all who reviewed last time (I have 90 reviews! Most ever! Woo! Maturity? What's that when it's at home?) and especially to the anonymous person who emailed me with story ideas. Scarily, he predicted a whole bunch of stuff that's going to happen in the next few chapters. So, to 'devoted fan' (^____^) this one's for you. Also, since the only real New Mutants fic I came across since last time was one by Skiltch, I hereby dedicate this instalment to those two (that's a compliment, by the way, not an insult, however bad the content below is).  
  
Oh yeah (yeesh, she's verbose today!), this chapter is officially the shortest in the entire fic. Not that you really needed to know that, but there you go. I felt like sharing.  
  
Toodles.  
  
*******************  
  
'Of Beast And Blade' By Scribbler  
Chapter Eleven ~ 'As the Raven Flies'  
  
*******************  
  
'There was never a great man who had not a great mother.' -- Olive Schreiner  
  
*******************  
  
"Who *are* you?"  
  
"I am who I have always been." Ororo replied at length. "Ororo the White. Mother to the Temple of The Way."  
  
"What do you know about my mother?"  
  
"I knew her before she became a husk of her former self."  
  
Kurt blinked, confused. What could she mean, 'husk of her former self'? "I... I don't understand."   
  
Ororo sighed. "I thought as much. You have much to learn, Kurt. About your origins and the world at large."  
  
"Ororo...." Jean gritted, clenching her jaw. She wasn't used to using her telekinesis for prolonged amounts of time, and Kurt's considerable weight was proving to be a strain.  
  
The white-haired woman nodded. "Kurt, I will tell you what you wish to know on one condition - that you control yourself and do not fly off the handle so violently again. This is a peaceful place, and I will not permit such actions within its walls, is that understood?"  
  
Kurt's head bobbed up and down uncertainly, but he whispered softly, "But Rogue...."  
  
"It is true what you say. Rogue is not dead," Ororo conceded. "But be that as it may, you know as well as I do that there is nothing we can do for her at present. If she survives the Shaking Sickness then it will be a welcome miracle, but not one that we can induce ourselves. No, Kurt. This is something she must combat alone. It is her fight."  
  
Where he floated, Kurt drew his knees up to his chest. Faint whimpering escaped his lips; a stark contrast to the snarling demon of only moments ago. Now he sounded more like some bemused and forlorn child. "Alone. Why do I always leave people alone? They try to help me, and get hurt. I'm never there when they need me. I always leave them alone. Abandon them."  
  
"Kurt." Ororo drew closer to him, gesturing to Jean. The telepath gently lowered the elf to the floor with a small sigh of relief.  
  
Kurt crouched, head buried in his knees. It was difficult to believe that this was the same boy who'd cheerfully turned somersaults around this very room not half an hour ago.   
  
~Such a change,~ Ororo thought. ~And I have a feeling that it's not just due to The Rogue's condition. There's more to this than we know.~ "Kurt," she repeated, hunkering down beside him. He looked up at her with eyes soulful enough to melt the hardest of hearts.  
  
"Please," he mumbled, "I need to know. How do you know my mother?"  
  
Ororo let a reluctant breath pass over her lips. "To tell you the truth, I wasn't even sure you were who I thought you were to begin with. I had my suspicions, but... you said things; did things that reminded me. But not enough to convince me of your heritage."  
  
"Then, what you said... about me being the son of Mystique the Seer..."  
  
"Was subterfuge, yes," Ororo said regretfully. "I had to make sure. I'm sorry for distressing you, but once you've heard my story then I'm sure you'll understand why I did it."  
  
The dark-skinned woman nodded imperceptibly at her 'children', who all retired to sitting positions so as not to detract from what she was saying. Gradually, a respectful hush fell upon the small room, with only the odd choking sob from Kitty piercing the air.   
  
Jean looked down at the younger girl, still clasped in her arms. Her gaze was somewhat unfocused, but she was still in the world of the living. Other than that, she seemed totally unaware of what was going on around her.   
  
~Shock,~ Jean thought wryly. ~But who wouldn't be after reliving their own parents' deaths?~  
  
Ororo sat, cross-legged beneath the folds of her robe. She rested her hands demurely in her lap, and stared solidly at some point close to the ceiling as she spoke.  
  
"Mystique. I wasn't sure to begin with. When I knew her she didn't go by that name. To me, she will always be Raven the Dark. But I suppose circumstances dictated that she changed her identity." She sighed. "You see Kurt, many years ago - long before you were born - your mother was a member of The Way. She lived at this very temple, as an Underling, and then as an Initiate. I remember her well. A conscientious girl, always exceeding her quota of work with good grace and affability. Never was she too downhearted not to spare a smile for anyone she met, and I can honestly say that I never heard a word spoken against her as she grew up amongst us. Finally, I chose her as my acolyte. She trained for years as my apprentice, and was to become the next Temple Mother after my time was ended."  
  
"Then why didn't she?" Kurt asked. It didn't make sense. How could Ororo be speaking of the same person he knew? Mystique was - had been, he corrected himself with a wince - genial, it was true, but kept herself to herself and only saw people when they came to her for business reasons. Never once had she sought out any company but his own, and Kurt knew for certain that she had been in possession of no friends in or around the Black Forest. So how could a young Pellae-Azuulle with such a bright future end up living a reclusive life in a tent in the middle of a forest, with only her misshapen son for companionship?  
  
"Because a young spirit is easy to sway, and machinations of the heart are difficult to control," Ororo responded cryptically. "Raven's abilities were unique for us at the time. Back then Changelings had not yet begun to appear, and Raven was the only one of her people who chose our way of life. Consequently, we knew little of how her Seeing powers worked, and trusted that she herself would be able to control and use them as she saw fit without any intervention from us. I see now how foolish we were. She learned as she grew by way of trial and error, honing her abilities and refining them with every passing day. Yet even she was ignorant as to the integral workings of her powers." Here she paused.  
  
Kurt raised his face and glanced across at the older woman. A stray lock of snowy hair fell across Ororo's cheek, accentuated by her tanned skin. "What happened? Why did she leave here?"  
  
"We know now that a Pellae-Azuulle 'sees' by accessing different plains of existence and viewing possible outcomes of future events. However, this does carry some degree of risk, as when not done properly, she can accidentally gain access to a different world altogether. This was the case with your mother. Whilst trying to perfect her second sight, Raven accidentally opened a portal to another realm. And it was from this that a being came who would change her life - and ours - forever. For you see, Raven had unwittingly made contact with one of the Seven Hells, and her 'visitor' was a demon."   
  
Ororo paused as this piece of information sank in. She knew that none of the other Underlings or Initiates in the room were aware of this tale, and listened as a short intake of breath was issued from several locations. Somehow, in an intensely mortal way, it felt good to share the secret she'd guarded for so long. Almost liberating.  
  
Eventually she continued, but not before shooting Kurt an inquisitive look. He was huddled in on himself, face not visible, but long pointed ears pricked and obviously drinking in every word. Her gaze lingered a moment on those ears, remembering their origin. She'd met other Pella-Azul in the years since Raven's departure, both male and female, and knew how different Kurt looked compared to them, even if he himself was unaware.  
  
She took a breath for strength. She'd come too far to stop now, and continued slowly and evenly. "His name was Amo-Cara. He was a minor demon from the First Hell, who inadvertently got sucked through Raven's portal and trapped here in Earth-Realm. Unable to reopen the gateway immediately, and worried about what we might say, Raven hid him from us until she figured out how to send him back again. But it was in those months when she fervently worked to retrace her steps that the seeds of her fate were planted and sowed.   
  
"Raven spent much time with Amo-Cara whilst she attempted to extricate him, and gradually the two became very close. He was not very old - for a demon - and since his residence was the First Hell, the darkness within him was small. The particulars are lost to me, but eventually..." she paused, and then sighed. A deep, heartfelt noise. "Eventually... Raven and Amo-Cara fell in love."  
  
More gasping. Ororo evaded their eyes, not wanting to see their reactions lest they be unfavourable. Raven had been precious to her - almost a daughter. Recalling events was painful, as had been the initial realisation that their relationship wasn't as trust-filled as she'd thought.  
  
"However, it could not last. Amo-Cara had a job to return to - for that was all he viewed his work in the First Hell as, a job, and even demons must answer to higher powers. When Raven could not reopen her portal, The Evil One himself took a hand in their plight and called Amo-Cara back. All this came to pass without anyone knowing of it, and when Amo-Cara was forcibly removed from our world, The Evil One masqueraded it as a fierce storm that raged outside our gates for many hours.   
  
"Afterwards, Raven became withdrawn, and spoke little to people. Her customary smiles became less frequent, she ate less, and her social appearances were non-existent. Nobody knew what was wrong with her, and we could only watch as she faded before our very eyes into a mere shade of the girl she'd once been.   
  
"Finally, after months of waning, Raven vanished one night, leaving behind only a note for me to find. In this note she told of Amo-Cara and how she'd loved him so, and how he'd returned her love despite what he was. When he left, she'd pined for him to the point where she no longer wanted to live any more if she had to live without him. It was then that she discovered she was to bear his child, and, ashamed of how her consorting with a demon would reflect on the Temple, had fled.   
  
"I never showed anyone the note. It was her desire that only I knew of what she'd done, so I burned it as per her wishes, and told people she'd run away to rejoin her family so they could help her learn how to control her abilities. That was seventeen years ago. I've never spoken of her since. Not until today."  
  
There was silence for a moment.  
  
"How did you know? That I was her son?" Kurt asked softly.  
  
"I was being truthful when I said a traveller had passed through here telling tales of a Seer in the Black Forest. A Pellae-Azuulle, who went by the name of Mystique the Seer and lived alone save for a small child. I knew then that it was her. That was my nickname for her, you see. Mystique. And she called me Storm." For a moment, Ororo looked profoundly sad.  
  
"I never knew," Kurt breathed. "All this time, and she never said a word. Never told me a thing." He turned to the Temple Mother. "She never forgot him. Amo-Cara, I mean. Never. She... she kept mementoes of him, you see... tokens, and... and..." His golden eyes went wide. "Gods, it was *you* he was talking about."  
  
"Pardon?" Ororo said, confused.  
  
"In the love notes Amo-Cara sent my mother. I... I found them by accident... he referred to a 'prison with the gaoler of ageless white.' I... I think he was talking about this place... and *you*."  
  
A brown hand strayed to her snowy locks, and Ororo gave a half-smile. "Perhaps one day, when Jean has taken over from me in my duties, I will journey into the Black Forest and seek out my old friend. I would dearly like to see Raven again."  
  
At once, a flash of regret blossomed across Kurt's face. "You can't," he said simply, voice suddenly devoid of emotion.  
  
Ororo seemed surprised. "Then after all this time, she still isn't able to face me? Is her shame really that great?"  
  
"No. It's not that at all."  
  
"Then why?"  
  
Kurt gulped, throat constricting slightly and tears threatening to leak down his cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Because.... because she's dead." There, he'd said it. Now they could know of how he was responsible for his mother's death and despise him for it just as much as he still did himself.  
  
Ororo said nothing for a moment. And when she did speak, her tone was flat, her voice hoarse. "How?"  
  
"Rogue came to her for a vision, and some assassins followed her there," Kurt gritted. "They were tracking her... my... my mother knew they were coming - she was a Seer, how could she not? - and what they would do when they reached us. So... so she sent me away... but... but she stayed behind... to protect me. So they wouldn't know which way I'd gone. And... and they... they murdered her." He snivelled a little. "She never told me, or else I would've stayed too, or got her away to someplace safe. She lied... she said she'd be there waiting for me when I returned from my adventures, but now... now... It's my fault. It's all my fault. She died trying to save me."  
  
More silence. Then; "Oh Raven." Ororo didn't sound bereft, but her whisper held more sorrow then a torrent of hysterical screaming ever could. Her eyes swiftly deepened with unspoken grief, and the aura surrounding her became a little less brilliant as she silently grieved for the friend she'd lost twice in one lifetime.  
  
It was as if the world had suddenly become a darker place. Everyone in the room felt it. Like a thick fog, a feeling of despair settled over them, and they vicariously felt the pain of those who had known the one called Raven the Dark and Mystique the Seer. The air around them seemed lifeless and dank with regret. Regret at words not said. Regret at things not done. Regret of emotions never spoken of until it was too late. Just... regret.  
  
Finally, Kurt spoke. "Mother remembered this place. I often wondered where her robes came from. Now I know. Never took them off unless she was sleeping. She missed it... and you. All of this." He gestured with one hand around the room and the buildings beyond and sighed. "So now I know. Now I know why we lived alone in the forest. And why she always seemed so sad. It was because of me."  
  
Blue eyes regarded him enigmatically. "How is it because of you, Kurt?"  
  
"She was hiding me away. She must have been ashamed of me - of where I came from. Of what giving birth to me forced her to give up." He chuckled harshly. "I can't understand why she didn't just throw me in a river as soon as I was born."  
  
Ororo's head snapped around. "Don't you *ever* say anything like that ever again! Your mother *loved* you; otherwise she wouldn't have sacrificed so much to take care of you. She loved Amo-Cara, but their happiness was never meant to be. *That* was why she was unhappy. In my opinion, your birth served to alleviate that unhappiness. You gave her a reason to live again, Kurt. A link to the one she loved but could never have. That she could ever be ashamed of you is inconceivable! If you ever thought that, it would be a betrayal of everything she did, everything she suffered to bring you into this world."  
  
All assembled were shocked at this display of vehemence from the usually calm and composed woman. Ororo collected herself, smoothing down a few stray wisps of hair and closing her eyes. She drew a deep breath, letting it filter slowly out of her mouth as she regained control of her emotions.   
  
Kurt just stared at her. "I-I'm sorry," he whispered at last.  
  
"Don't be," she replied in a more even voice. "Just remember how much Raven loved you. I know you blame yourself for her passing, Kurt," She hesitated over the word 'passing'. Even for her, 'death' was too strong to use at present. It was too absolute. Too callous. "But you have to remember, she *chose* not to tell you what she knew. She cared about you so much she was willing to give up her own life for your well-being. I beg of you; don't squander it blaming yourself for something you can't change. Remember your mother for what she did for you, not what you've convinced yourself you did to her."  
  
Kurt gazed at the sage female. He'd never thought about it that way before. And yet, when Ororo rationalized things in that husky baritone of hers, they seemed true to the point of being indisputable.  
  
He swallowed. "Thank you."  
  
Ororo smiled again. "And now we know why you felt so strongly about The Rogue - "  
  
"Please, it's just Rogue."  
  
"All right. Rogue. You blame yourself for what happened to her too, don't you?"  
  
He averted his eyes. "She was trying to protect me. Us."  
  
"Did the Displacer Beast attack her?"  
  
He blinked. "Wha- Ja. Yes, it did."  
  
"Then it stands to reason that she was also defending herself. You can't blame yourself for something like that, Kurt. You were not the one who sent the creature after Rogue, and from what I understand, you tried to help her when she was in difficulties. Am I right?"   
  
Kurt nodded, but his gaze still held a spark of self-culpability. Ororo decided to change tack.  
  
"What would Rogue say if she heard you pitying yourself so? Because that's exactly what your doing. Indulging in selfish pity."  
  
Kurt thought for a moment. "She'd... she'd probably tell me I was being stupid, call me a Kaju, and tell me to get off my fuzzy butt and do something useful."  
  
"Sage advice if ever I heard it. So what do you intend to do?"  
  
"I.... I guess I'll get off my fuzzy butt and do something useful," he said after a moment. A vague smile split his cerulean face. "And pray."  
  
"We'll all pray for her. At present, it's all we can do. But don't be discouraged. Prayer has worked miracles in the past."  
  
Kurt's small smile widened slightly. "Thank you, Ororo. For everything."  
  
She brushed off his gratitude by raising one elegant hand. "Save your thanks, Kurt. Though my old friend is lost to me, I can still help her son. And so, in a way, she is still with me. In spirit."  
  
She got gracefully to her feet, smoothing down her magenta robes and brushing the copious amounts of dust that had gathered upon the fabric off to go swirling away through the still air. Kurt followed her lead, albeit somewhat slower, and stretched himself when he was upright. Several of the vertebrae in his spine crackled as they realigned, causing Jubilee and Jean both to wince, but he appeared not to notice, and released a relieved lungful of breath at the increased comfort he now felt - both physically and mentally.  
  
However, a strange look crossed his face, and he offered his next question up to the open air, trusting that someone would provide the answer to it. "There's something I just don't understand, though. Why didn't meine Mutter tell me who my father was? If she loved him so much, then why did she keep his identity a secret from me for so long?"  
  
With practised ease, Ororo opened her mouth to answer, and everyone else held their tongues since their Temple Mother had decided to reply. It was not her status that caused them to act this way, but the simple respect she inspired from them. Ororo the White was the kind of person who could command esteem without saying a word or moving a muscle, though she always contested her 'children' for treating her higher than themselves.  
  
Yet before the first wise utterances could leave her throat, Ororo was silenced by a commotion that suddenly started up not a few feet to her left.   
  
Jean leaned back slightly as a still-disorientated Kitty tried valiantly to sit up. The younger girl was trembling, but refused aid and looked squarely at her furry companion from where she sat across the room from him. He gazed at her curiously, and she met his gaze like for like. Eyes never wavering, despite her body's unsteadiness.  
  
"K-Kurt," she stuttered. "You went through a lot as a child. You said so yourself. Your... your mother knew what her clients called you, didn't she? The names and insults they used."  
  
Slowly, Kurt nodded.  
  
"What d-did most people call you when they first s-saw you?"  
  
He pondered this momentarily. "Nothing nice. Monster. Fiend. Demon."  
  
A gasp; not of surprise, but effort. "And did that hurt you?"  
  
Kurt thought back to a picture book he'd once been given by a particularly spiteful child who'd accompanied her father as he visited Mystique many years ago. He'd been about seven years old, and it had been an illustrated children's book about myths and monsters in and around Earth-Realm.   
  
On one page had been a particularly gruesome picture of thin, dancing figure with wickedly pointed horns and a spaded tail spurting out of its blistery red backside. It had been depicted as dancing on top of a veritable mountain of human remains, with a black pitchfork in one clawed hand and the remains of a mutilated head swinging by its hair in the other. The girl had leaned over him as he looked at the horrific image, pointed to it with one podgy finger and told him; "That's you."   
  
The incident had rattled him so much that he'd been unable to sleep for a week, and several times Mystique had been woken by his screams as he experienced nightmares, and then clung to her, sobbing and whispering; "I'm not gonna grow up to be like that, am I Mama? I'm not a monster, am I?"  
  
Even now, he recalled the hurt in her eyes as he asked her that, and could almost feel her soft hands lovingly stroking his hair as she murmured; "No, my love. You're no monster. You're my little boy. My beautiful little boy. Hush now. There's nothing to be afraid of. Hush. Mama's here."  
  
Kurt blinked. "Ja. They hurt me."  
  
"So your mother probably didn't want to cause you any more pain by telling you that your father actually *was* a demon," Kitty reasoned. She breathed hard, but refused to stop talking. For once, nobody commented on her verbal diarrhoea. "Y-you already felt upset because you were different from other kids... and I'll bet she didn't want to hurt you more by, like, compounding it. If she l-loved Amo-Cara, then she didn't want to risk you hating him because of things... because of things other people had told you about demons. Perhaps she was going to... to tell you one day, when you were old enough not to be influenced b-by, like, prejudice..."  
  
"But she never got the chance," Kurt finished grimly. Kitty nodded, and then rested her forehead in her hand, obviously made dizzy by the action.  
  
Kurt crossed the room and knelt by her side, all other feelings forgotten as an intense anxiety for her swept through him. "Kätzchen, are you OK?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine," she assured him through gritted teeth. "Just a little headache. Nothing for you to, like, worry about."  
  
Unnoticed by either of them, Jean raised one eyebrow. That was the first time she'd heard near-descent into insanity referred to as 'a little headache.'   
  
Suddenly, a voice threw out a mental command, knowing that with her telepathic abilities, she'd be able to hear it and nobody else would. The ultimate assurance of privacy.  
  
~Just, like, leave it, OK? He's got enough on his plate without worrying about me and my problems. Just let him alone. I want him to be happy.~  
  
Kitty's blue eyes slid sideways for the merest fraction of a second, giving physical emphasis to what her cerebral voice had already directed. It wasn't needed, however. Even the weakest psychic would have sensed the authority in the charge, not to mention the conflicting waves of worry and concern dripping off the elf. Jean smiled a knowing smile, but did as she was bid, silently sending a message to Initiate Ashari.  
  
Teah received it with a jolt, and shot at warning glare over at the teenager. She hated telepathic communication with a vengeance, since she was for the most part an intensely private person. Jean shrugged off her death-glares with an easy affability, smirking as she watched the two younger teens.  
  
"All right, my girl." Teah stood up and paced over to Kitty. The brown-haired girl and her furry companion looked up at her approach, quailing faintly under her irritated expression. They weren't to know that it wasn't directed at them. "No matter what you say about being 'fine', you clearly need medical attention. Any healer worth her salt can see that. Come with me to the Infirmary and we'll see if we haven't got some tonic that'll fix you right up." Grasping Kitty's wrist in one tiny, vice-like hand, she proceeded to drag her to the door.  
  
Kitty marvelled absently over the strength Teah possessed given her immature body, but gave little thought to such notions as she protested against the chosen course of action. "Initiate Ashari, I can assure you I'm, like, totally fine. Just a bit light-headed is all. Really, there's nothing wrong with me. I don't have to go to the Infirmary. Really."  
  
Another telepathic message from Jean enlightened the healer as to just exactly what had happened when Kitty zoned out earlier, and Teah clucked her tongue disapprovingly at the girl's unselfish, but ultimately foolish words. "Nothing wrong? Give me a break. Now come with me, and be quick about it. I haven't got all day to stand around yapping with foolish girls."  
  
Teah wrenched the heavy door open and towed her charge out into the hallway and on to the Infirmary. Those still left in the anteroom could hear them even as they reached their destination, and with his hyper-sensitive hearing, Kurt swore he could still perceive them clearly when they were actually *inside* it too.  
  
Jean smiled. "Now there's something you don't see every day. Most of us are too frightened of Initiate Ashari to even *think* about arguing with her. Her temper's legendary. Your friend's got guts."  
  
"You have no idea," Kurt replied, and Jean felt with satisfaction at her own insight the swell of pride within his chest.   
  
She was a little surprised when he turned to look at her, and a fresh sensation of genuine penitence and shame flowed out of him.   
  
"I'm sorry, Jean, for what happened earlier. I know you were only trying to do what was best and protect everyone - myself included - by using your Changeling powers on me. I had no right to act the way I did, trying to hurt you. I apologise."  
  
"Already forgotten," she replied, waving a careless hand. "You weren't exactly acting like yourself. I know you didn't mean it. And I'll bet everyone else does too." There was a chorus of assenting noises from Jubilee and Ororo.  
  
"Be that as it may," Kurt repeated, brows knitted, "It was wrong of me, and I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do for you - or Initiate Ashari, either for that matter - then just name it and I'll do it gladly." He raised a tridactyl hand and placed it on his chest above his heart. "I promise."  
  
Strangely touched by the gesture, Jean's cheeks coloured a bit, and she chuckled self-consciously. "Um... thanks? The best way you can make it up to Initiate Ashari is to stay out of her way for a while until she's had time to cool off. And as for me, your apology is more than enough. Not many people would be big enough to admit they were wrong."   
  
Abruptly, an idea popped unannounced into her head, and the corners of her mouth stretched further into a fully-fledged grin. "Actually, there is something you can do for me."  
  
"Anything. Just say the word."  
  
"You can get changed out of that ridiculous toga thing and put on some proper clothes."  
  
The elf blinked. Then smiled. Putting one foot forward, he made an elegantly flourished bow, smacking his tail to the floor in a gesture of mock-acquiescence. "Your wish is my command, oh great and wonderful master."  
  
Jean giggled, something that was catching, because a few seconds later Jubilee was also sniggering at Kurt's pseudo-subservient antics. He noticed this and, like a true performer, milked their humour for all that he could, pirouetting around and falling to the floor to kiss Jean's feet, all the time vociferating every flowery compliment he could think of as loud as he could.  
  
Ororo looked on with mild amusement. For someone who had just been near suicidal, Kurt had recovered amazingly quickly. Idly she wondered whether his lineage also possessed blood from the Faes; creatures known for their quickness to anger, and equal swiftness at forgetting what had made them angry in the first place. It was good to see him smile again. Her own smile also spread across her face as she watched the three teenagers engaged in their refreshingly trivial pursuits. An uplifting respite after such gloomy conversations.  
  
She still felt a twinge of regret over the loss of her friend and one-time-acolyte, but Ororo had resolved the moment Kurt told her of Raven's death to avenge her the only way she knew how; by helping her son, and the quest he had undertaken - or was going to undertake very soon.  
  
This thought elicited another twinge inside her gut. Except this time it was not grief, but guilt that assailed her insides. She knew what she was really doing by helping Kurt and his companions. She was aware of her own ulterior motives, of the vengeance she hoped to wreak through them, and what fate had already decreed in the words of Ramnet Calorsiel. She knew what she was sentencing him to by aiding him. In a way, she mused, her help was tainted, since it all boiled down to one thing - the prophecy.   
  
Not that she would have abandoned Kurt were it not for the Calorsiel Texts. He was still Raven's son, after all, and Kitty and Rogue were still his comrades. It violated every rule of The Way not to help them. Yet still, Ororo felt guilty about it. She wasn't really helping them at all. Just priming them for the next stage of their journey. Preparing them for the ultimate test they would have to face at Belvedere.  
  
~If The Rogue survives that long.~  
  
Wistfully, she cast a glance at the wall separating the anteroom from the Infirmary Proper. Teah had been telling the truth about The Rogue's probability of survival. And, much as she hated to admit it, Ororo tended to agree that her chances were minuscule at best. She'd yet to hear of anyone living through Shaking Sickness without the aid of a healer. Even in those rare few cases where the afflicted had survived, it had drained the healer's powers so much that they themselves were also reduced to death's door as a result. Teah was the only healer there was at The Temple, and her power levels were in no condition to spend themselves entirely on retrieving Rogue from where she resided. No, Rogue would have to combat the illness by herself. At least until Teah regained enough energy to help without killing herself, and that could take days.  
  
Ororo sighed. It was a no-win situation. To have Teah attempt to save Rogue by herself meant risking Teah's life, and possibly Rogue's too if the Changeling was unsuccessful. Yet by doing nothing, they were essentially condemning the ex-assassin to death's mercy anyway. And without her, the prophecy could never be fulfilled. She was too integral a part of it to be missing. It would be over before it had even begun. The Silver Sword would have won and his lust for power would go on unchecked until it destroyed them all.  
  
Ororo's hands clenched into fists She was not a violent person by nature, but she had her moments - most of them involving The Silver Sword. For what he had done to so many innocents, she loathed him - as did most other people in The Temple - and lived her life in the hope that one day she would contribute to bringing him down. That day seemed to have arrived along with Kurt and his party, but now it had been snatched away again, just as swiftly. As Rogue's life dwindled and expired, so did their hopes of defeating The Silver Sword and restoring peace to their lands once more, and that fact made Ororo's blood boil in her veins.  
  
Glancing up at the three adolescents before her, she noticed idly the easy way they interacted with each other. It was almost as if the disheartening tête-à-tête a few minutes previously hadn't happened at all. Kurt continued to play up to his audience, and Jean accepted his actions with good grace, whilst Jubilee did so with a little less decorum; throwing back her head and laughing long and loud.   
  
Ororo wished she had their innocence and optimism. Kurt still believed with all his heart that The Rogue - no. Just plain 'Rogue' according to him - would be able to make it through her Shaking Sickness unaided. He believed in her that much. In his eyes, there was nothing she couldn't do - and to a certain extent, Jubilee had also shown her leanings to this point of view. Even the idea that she was trapped within the confines of her own mind didn't seem to dampen the belief that she would come back to them somehow, one way or another.  
  
~Perhaps that's where I've been going wrong,~ Ororo mused. ~I've only been looking at how to tailor things so that they're not wrong. These young ones look at them and only see what's going right. I see the negative possibilities of Rogue's situation, and they see the positive parts of her continued existence. Maybe I should take a leaf out of their book and look for the brighter side of things until fate and the gods cast their judgement.~  
  
"Hey, Ororo?"  
  
The dark-skinned woman jolted from her musings as the cheerful voice trickled into her ear. "Yes, Jean?"  
  
"Where can we get some proper clothes for Kurt and Kitty? Do we have any spare things lying around, or will they have to wait until some more are made for them."  
  
"That won't be necessary." Ororo thought of the stock of robes several pre-pubescent Underlings had outgrown and cast off recently. Kitty was a slender girl, and Kurt didn't have much weight on him either. Those garments should fit them perfectly. "I have just the thing in mind for them."  
  
Kurt's stomach abruptly chose that moment to rumble rather loudly. The assorted gurglings filled the chamber as he hugged his midriff tightly with bare furry arms and smiled wanly. "Entschuldigung," he muttered. "I haven't eaten in a while, and I kind of have this problem that I faint when I don't eat for a long time."  
  
"Say no more," said Ororo. "If I'm not mistaken, then it's nearly lunchtime anyway. Food will be served in The Great Hall soon, and I'll let the kitchens know to set out two extra places."  
  
Kurt's golden eyes widened. "Um, could you please not tell them who will be filling those extra seats, Frauline? I wouldn't ask, except that I had a slight run in with some members of the kitchens today involving flour, treacle and a very annoyed man who threw a pan at my head. I don't think he'd be too pleased if he knew I was going to be there."  
  
Ororo laughed, a tinkling, almost musical sound. "Alright then, I won't reveal your identity. But first things first. Jubilee, you take Kurt down to the storerooms and find some cast-offs that will fit him. Take Kitty too when she's ready. Jean, you come with me. We'll see you both at lunch, if not before. Farewell."  
  
And with that, she swept out of the open doorway, Jean hurrying, somewhat less stylishly, in her wake. A multitude of dust motes flurried around as she passed, as if adding their own wave of farewell to that of the two teenagers left in the room.  
  
On cue, Kurt turned to Jubilee, but she pre-empted him and raised a finger to his mouth to silence him. "Shhh. I know. You're sorry. I am too. About your mother, I mean. But rest assured, nobody here holds your behaviour against you. You weren't in the right frame of mind when you attacked Initiate Ashari. But a word of advice; don't try anything like that again, or she'll have your guts for garters. Teah may look young and puny, but she packs quite a wallop!" A grin split her oriental face. "Now, let's see about getting you fitted out with some clothes. We can't have you wandering about half naked now, can we?" Sparks of mischief flickered in her brown eyes. "Of course, I can think of several people who'd prefer to have you look that way. Underling Tabitha, for example - urk!"  
  
She grunted as Kurt clamped a hand around her wrist and forcibly yanked her to the door.  
  
"Schnell! I need some clothes fast! Before die Blonderkopf finishes with her 'errand' and comes looking for me. Schnell! Schneller!"   
  
*******************  
  
Unbeknownst to the chattering group inside the anteroom, they were being watched. Closely. As they left, a small dark shape rose up outside the window from where it had been hovering just out of sight. Feathery wings as black as pitch pumped at the air, and two eyes, just as murky, yet with a malevolent red glimmer deep in their depths scrutinized their every move, word and gesture until the door was finally shut firmly behind them and it could see them no more.  
  
Sharp ears had listened to their dialogue, noting all that had passed and come to pass between them and storing it away to relate to its master later on. These ears heard the news concerning Rogue's condition, and Kurt's subsequent outburst. They heeded Kitty's reaction to Teah's words, and eavesdropped quiescently as Raven's sorry tale was related. All in an unnaturally cold, clinical silence.  
  
The owner of these ears remained for a few moments after they'd gone, staring into the room with far too much intelligence for its bestial form. Briefly, it tapped on the window, as if testing the glass for weaknesses. Then it calmly folded its wings and plummeted down to the ground unaided, before reopening them and, in a brilliant display of aerial dominance, skimmed the cobbled floor of the Temple courtyard in a stylish arc. Powerful muscles gripped the airstreams, manipulating them until it got enough height to carry the none-too-flimsy body up and away over the surrounding walls. At one point it almost flew vertically against the stonework, and gave quite a fright to several birds - all small crows - that were perched peacefully at the top.  
  
A precursory glance at the watchtower above the gates informed it of a male youth in his mid-twenties or so leaning over the side. If it had had lips it would have sneered at such a puny defence. True, these Changelings had much power, but still, a single lookout was foolish. One well-placed spelled arrow and the entire place would be undefended and ripe for the picking.  
  
Once again, lack of a proper mouth denied it the freedom of expression it desired, but it smiled cruelly with its glittering eyes alone. Once again, there was far too much acumen present in them for this to be a normal creature. No, this was something different. Something more. And something undoubtedly evil.  
  
Silently it flew on, leaving The Temple of The Way far behind it. Countryside flashed past beneath as it soared with aberrant speed. The information it possessed was tucked neatly away inside its brain, ready to be delivered as per its orders. Unlike the erratic flight of most of its kind, the creature flew with unnerving purpose in a near-perfect straight line. So swift and sure, it was almost a living arrow, ready to strike home in more ways than one.   
  
The Master would be very pleased with this. Very pleased indeed.  
  
Red eyes twinkled gleefully in another silent smile.  
  
*******************  
  
To Be Continued....  
  
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	14. Fragility

DISCLAIMER: X-Men: Evo belongs to Warner Bros. And Marvel Comics. I have never, and shall never own them, no matter how much I may want to. I've simply warped them to fit my own twisted mind. However, this fic and any original work herein is officially mine, and anyone trying to steal it will find out how painful a weapon a computer mouse can when used by someone with imagination.  
  
WARNINGS: This is an AU (Alternative Universe) fic. Everything has been transplanted into a fantasy universe of my creation. Inspirations, despite what you might initially think, aren't actually from a certain Peter-Jackson-esque film project, since I started work on this before I ever *saw* those movies. Influences rather include InterNutter's spiffy fic 'Mein Teuful' (if you haven't yet read this then go do it *now*!) and various other sources I'll explain later.  
  
CODES:   
  
Hello = Narration  
  
~ Hello ~ = Thought  
  
"Hello" = Character Speaking  
  
*Hello* = Bold  
  
//Hello// = Psychic communication  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry for not updating in *so* long, but I got pretty much snowed under with work and other plotbunnies. Plus, I've been having difficulties with the ff.net review function, in that none my fics receive are actually showing up, and nobody will get back to me about the problem from High Command. That said, if anyone really wants to (and I actively encourage this), then please write any reviews that don't appear in an email, because I *truly* like hearing from people on this fic in particular. It's my baby, and I hate to see it neglected. Which is why I was literally dancing around the room when it broke the 100 reviews barrier. Empress, you're my new buddy, BTW.   
  
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'Of Beast And Blade' By Scribbler  
  
Chapter Twelve ~ 'Fragility'   
  
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'Fashion is what one wears oneself. What is unfashionable is what other people wear.' -- Oscar Wilde.   
  
*******************  
  
A blood-curdling scream rang piercingly down through the air and down the halls of Belvedere. All who heard it shivered, or else diligently turned back to their work lest they become the next victim of the Silver Sword's capricious whim.   
  
It was not uncommon for him to turn to torturing as a form of entertainment when bored, and boredom seemed to claim him more and more often of late. What were a few measly lives to his happiness? Belvedere was never short of souls on which he could vent his frustrations, and if nobody there took his fancy, then there was always somebody close by outside the stronghold that could be captured and brought to him.   
  
The torture chamber had been specially designed by the Silver Sword himself, and crafted by a mixture of skilled workmen and magic. It utilized all the latest 'technologies' available, as well as some devices he'd created himself in his more inventive moments. Several older apparatus also graced its blood-spattered walls, however, and these were the most well-used favourites he never grew tired of utilizing. 'Why fix what isn't broken?' was a policy he favoured.   
  
Against one side was a beloved iron maiden, spikes slightly rusty with age, but that was no matter. It made the torment even more deliciously severe. Next to it stood a tall rack on a clever swinging mechanism that allowed it to be used either vertically or horizontally depending on what was required. Many other various gadgets were also dotted about, and all bore the same dark brown stains of recent usage.  
  
There was no gaoler to speak of. The Silver Sword enjoyed performing such duties himself, and it was rumoured that sometimes he extracted relevant information from spies and turncoats via magic, before torturing them to death just for the fun of it. However, nobody knew this for sure. That is, unless they were his victim - and then they couldn't very well affirm or deny anything.  
  
Another agonized screech rent the air, tinctured by a despair so intense it almost defied belief. The poor individual who yelled knew there was no salvation for him, and screamed only as a perfunctory measure rather than in any hope of aid or relief.  
  
The Silver Sword stood before his latest prey and smiled. The term 'prey' is used in its loosest sense, as the being chained to the wall had not been hunted as quarry at all, but was rather just a lost traveller who'd unwittingly wandered into the dictator's territory, and was now paying the price for his ignorance.   
  
The tyrant unfolded his arms and cracked a long gut-whip into the empty air, enjoying the look of fear that crossed the unfortunate's face as it snicked so close to his left eye. He was a master of what he did, and knew how to delay pain to increase fear. He knew that it was fear that made a blow - when it did come - twice as sweet and enjoyable.   
  
For him, that was.   
  
The victim in question was a boy in his late teens, with a sallow face and dirty blonde hair that fell into startling purple eyes. He swore he was a simple traveller who'd strayed into these lands by accident, but his apologies fell on deaf ears. The Silver Sword wasn't interested in such petty excuses. Besides, he'd been feeling decidedly edgy lately, and such sadistic entertainment was usually the only thing that alleviated restlessness for him. This boy's timely arrival had provided just the respite that he needed from his monotonous everyday routine.   
  
The boy raised his face. A deep gash traced the line of his nose, and blood leaked from this down and into his mouth.  
  
"P... please... have mercy..." he croaked, sending spurts of crimson flying into the air.  
  
"Mercy?" the Silver Sword laughed cruelly. "Mercy is for the weak and spineless. Those who take no pride in their work. I, however, do."   
  
He cracked the whip again, this time catching the boy across the chest. He yelped, turning his head away but unable to move because of the manacles attached to his outstretched hands and feet, essentially pinning him to the floor and ceiling. Ragged gasps for air rattled in his lungs and caught in his throat as this fresh wave of pain swept through his body, and he closed his oddly coloured eyes to beat it down.  
  
"How dare you look away from me without permission, impertinent wretch!" the older man snarled, pacing closer to the injured youth.   
  
The boy didn't move, a fact that seemed to anger the dictator more than it should have done.  
  
"Have you no respect? Discourteous fool! I'll teach you to obey me! You will know respect! You will grovel before your master."  
  
"Y... you're not my... not my... master..." The boy choked in a last act of foolish bravado.   
  
The only response was a raised eyebrow.  
  
"Talking back to me?" The Silver Sword's voice became deceptively soft. "Well, well, it would seem that you *do* still have some spirit left in you."   
  
The tyrant reached out with one hand and cupped the teenager's chin almost lovingly, bringing his face closer until the youth could feel his breath blowing gently on his bloodied cheek. The boy shied away, repulsed by the pseudo-affectionate contact.   
  
"I'll see to it that's the first thing to go."  
  
Viciously, and without prior warning, the Silver Sword brought his other hand up and slapped the boy across his face. The act was made doubly harmful by the heavy metal gauntlet he always wore, and there was a resounding 'crack' as the boy's nose broke in a flurry of spurting red droplets. He cried out, but received another blow for his troubles, and then another.   
  
The Silver Sword smiled - a disfiguring semblance on his ruthless face.  
  
Suddenly, he stepped back, leaving the youth to hang limply into his chains, letting them support his weight since his legs no longer had the strength to. He backed away, also letting the whip fall to the floor with an echoing slap around the spacious chamber, and leaving it to go unnoticed. To all intents and purposes he was showing mercy.  
  
To all intents and purposes, this assumption was wrong.  
  
Abruptly, the sorcerer raised both arms and began chanting in some strange, foreign tongue. Alien words trickled from his lips, collecting in a pool in the open air before him and burning a near-palpable hole in the fabric of the room the moment they left his mouth. His eyes took on a glazed look, and pinpricks of light began to dance at the ends of his fingertips.  
  
The purple-eyed boy looked on with unconcealed horror. Normal torture was horrendous, but magical torture was even worse.   
  
The dots of light grew larger, reflecting in his lavender eyes with an orange gleam. Slowly they began to revolve around the Silver Swords hands, caressing his palms and playing up his arms. They burned brighter as his voice got louder, until they were too intense to look at any more without being blinded. The man's voice rose and rose, crescendoing louder and louder, and soon he was shouting rather than chanting.   
  
A high keening wail filled the room as the spots of brilliance flared and merged into one large ball at his fingertips. It shot forward, drowning out the Silver Sword's words as it ploughed through the air and crashed into the captured youth in a blaze of brutal glory.  
  
The boy yelled as it struck his chest, and again as the ball of light dissipated, covering all of his body and burning like acid wherever it touched bare skin. Speedily it ate away at his clothing, so as to get at his yielding flesh beneath and scorch it with paranormal abandon. The pain was concentrated and unremitting, and he screamed until he could scream no more.  
  
The Silver Sword stood with his arms still outstretched, laughing aloud. Every now and then he would twitch his fingers, guiding the orange glow to another patch of exposed skin with the power of his mind. He revelled in the agonized shouts of his victim, each one bringing a gleeful flash to his pale eyes. He neither knew nor cared about the identity of the youth. Such things were unimportant. Only the thrill of causing pain mattered to him. The control he had over this boy's life. Ultimate power. Such power was what he'd quested for most of his years, and what he'd fought to keep in the face of adversity and revolt. Rulership. Authority. Power.  
  
Power.  
  
Abruptly, the laughter died in his throat, as the small door behind him on the opposite side of the chamber opened, letting a beam of yellowish light stream into the room from the corridor beyond.   
  
A figure stood in the doorway, awaiting a lull when he might attract the attention of his master.   
  
The Silver Sword growled deep in his throat, annoyed at being disturbed. He half-considered sending an absent bolt of lightning over his shoulder and killing the intruder where he stood, but thought better of it at the last moment. He would see what the person wanted, and then if he was still displeased... Well, there was always space for one more in the Torture Chamber.  
  
He let his arms drop to his sides, and the orange light evaporated almost immediately. The purple-eyed boy fell forward, dangling uselessly in his chains. Most of his clothing had been burned off, and all his skin was horribly blistered and blackened. Even his face was covered in angry welts, and his hair was no more than slightly smoking fuzz cropped close to his skull.  
  
The Silver Sword paid him no heed, spinning on his heel and barking out irritably, "Who dares to disturb me when I am at my leisure? Step forward, or I'll have you gutted where you stand!"  
  
The figure in the door walked slowly into the room, face shrouded in shadow as he left the illumination of the corridor outside. The Torture Chamber was kept dark to instil fear to the victims, but now the Silver Sword found the lack of light a bother, and absently created a Floatlight, not taking his eyes from the person advancing towards him.  
  
The chattering ball of luminosity sped forward, making the person pause as it hovered in his face. Gerris blinked as he was momentarily blinded, and the Floatlight circled his head twice before retreating back to its creator's side.  
  
The Silver Sword regarded his minion coldly.  
  
"Gerris." His voice carried a dangerous edge. "What is the reason for this interruption? You know as well as anyone that I am never to be disturbed in here."  
  
"I'm well aware of that, my liege." Gerris genuflected slightly, but was inhibited by a bulky mass of... something on his crooked arm. "However, I knew you'd be angry if I didn't come to you immediately with what I've found out."  
  
"Found out?" The Silver Sword's aerobic eyebrow rose again. "What could you possibly have discovered that would make you risk death in here to tell me?" He had to admit, he was intrigued. Gerris was not usually a foolhardy person.  
  
"Milord, it concerns the Displacer Beast."  
  
A proud smile split the Silver Sword's face. "Ah, yes. Has it returned yet? Or will I need to send out a hunting party to recapture it?" He smiled slightly. "I haven't been hunting for so long. Politics are very time-consuming. I could use such a respite."  
  
Gerris gulped nervously. "Milord... it's dead."  
  
The subsequent silence was all consuming. Not a dust mote moved or made a sound.   
  
Then; "*WHAT*?!" The Silver Sword's pale eyes darkened, and sparks of angry magical energy began to inadvertently appear in his hands. Both Gerris and the Floatlight quailed. "How could this happen? How can this be?"  
  
"There's more, your Lordship." Gerris swallowed. "The Rogue and her companions... they live. It was she who slew the Beast."  
  
"Impudent *wench*!" The older man gritted his teeth in fury. "She'll pay for what she's done! My Displacer Beast was unbeatable. It was my prize. And she... she... Make no mistake. I shall tear her limb from limb with my own hands for this... this *outrage*!"   
  
"There may be no need to, sir."  
  
The words caught the Silver Sword's attention, and he looked up curiously at the dishevelled animal-keeper, breathing heavily from his own anger. Savage choler still burned in his gaze, but a smidgen of reason also shone through. He had not become the most powerful man in all the realms by letting his emotions rule him.  
  
"Speak. And be quick."  
  
"The Rogue was badly injured in the fight with your champion, sir. Her companions found shelter for themselves and her, but she is waning. There is no doubt in my mind that she will soon die. For you see, sir, she has contracted the deadly Shaking Sickness."   
  
The angry magic at his fingertips dimmed a little at this, and the Silver Sword's face took on a pensive expression. "Never assume anything, Gerris. To do so is a dangerous pastime. The Rogue is not a force to underestimate. This 'shelter' of which you speak. Where is it? And how have you come across this information whilst *I* have not?"  
  
"Milord, I beg your pardon for my candidness. I know these things because Cronshaw here told me of them." He offered forth the strange mass on his arm.   
  
With an incline of its master's head, the Floatlight shot forward, illuminating the object as larger-than-average raven, with lustrous black feathers and intelligent eyes. It regarded the tall human regally, and the Silver Sword frowned.  
  
"A Kikaka Raven? I was unaware that you could communicate with them, Gerris. Usually trainers take many years to learn how to interpret the language of these extraordinary birds."  
  
"I raised Cronshaw myself, sir, so it stands to reason he'd be more open to me than some dusty old scholar who learned about his ways in a book."  
  
"Quite." The sorcerer folded his arms. "So how does 'Cronshaw' know about The Rogue and her companions?"  
  
"He's been tracking them, milord. I sent him out when the Displacer Beast didn't come back through the portal like it was supposed to. I hope you'll forgive my impertinence?"  
  
"That depends on whether I like what I hear or not," the Silver Sword replied. "Proceed."  
  
Gerris gulped uneasily. "Well, sir, they've been taken in by The Temple of The Way. That's where the three of them are right now."  
  
"The Temple of The Way," his master spat. "That den of do-gooders! Ach, I should have known! It would be just like them to shelter those three. That place has been a thorn in my side for a long time now."  
  
"Milord?"  
  
"It's full of Changelings, Gerris. A veritable stash of power to use against me, should they see fit. And I know there are more than a few who would. They say they are a peaceful place, but I know better. Their magical capacity almost rivals my own when they're all gathered together in one place like that. And now they have those accused three with them!" His hands unconsciously balled themselves into fists, clenching and unclenching irately as he spoke.  
  
Changelings. An unwelcome side effect of his magical dabbling. He'd never meant to create such powerful beings. Their existence was a complete accident - the result of experiments to increase his own magical ability. He hadn't known that combining spells to augment his sorcerous muscle would alter the magical fabric of Earth-Realm itself, or that such a shift would imbue metamorphoses of immeasurable power into normal human beings.   
  
Humans were naturally weak. Pathetic. Just like he'd been before he discovered the delights of sorcery and power. He'd never even considered them, his own race, to be a threat until it was too late. By the time he realized what they were and what they could do, Changelings were appearing everywhere.   
  
Some of them were dangerous, and some were not, but he took no chances. Wherever a new sighting was made, The Silver Sword's armies were dispatched. Whole towns and villages fell as they sought out and destroyed anyone whose abilities may prove a threat to his rule. When The Guild of Assassins joined with him, he began dispensing them also to deal with Changelings. No mercy was shown and no quarter given. Men, women, children - all were murdered in the name of his continued authority. Sometimes soldiers died when people tried to defend themselves, but the Silver Sword didn't care about this loss of life. He only cared about preserving the power he'd gained against the creatures he'd unintentionally created.  
  
The Temple of The Way represented everything he fought against. Especially their 'Temple Mother'. The Silver Sword knew her for what she really was, and despised her for it. Her power was indescribable. Inhuman. True, it was but a shade of what she'd once controlled, many years ago, before even the time of his own birth but still... He was a mere man - a powerful one, granted, but still just a man. And she was a...  
  
He snarled, curling his gauntlet into a fist so tight it would have drawn blood had his flesh been exposed. It was time to do something about The Temple of The Way. Especially since those three from the prophecy were there now too. Unlike Gerris, he didn't trust to fate to finish off The Rogue. He would only be satisfied if either she, or her companions, or all of them perished via his designs. By his vicarious hand.   
  
Gerris watched his master through fearfully curious hazel eyes. The Silver Sword hadn't said a thing for several minutes, and his face remained set in an enraged mask. Far be it for him to interrupt these thoughts - Gerris was much too smart for that - but he couldn't help wondering what was going through the older man's head.  
  
Not that he would have admitted it to anyone - even himself on occasion - but Gerris actually quite detested The Silver Sword. On the outside he was the perfect minion. He had come to Belvedere voluntarily when his village was destroyed by one of the tyrant's marauding armies, and offered up his extensive knowledge of magical beasts and exotic creatures. The Menagerie was already in existence, but The Silver Sword had killed his last keeper for reasons unknown, so there was a spot already open for the likes of Gerris.  
  
However, on the inside he resented the megalomaniac. It had not deepened into hatred, since this was the man who had rescued him from exposure and given him a home. Yet he often asked himself, at what cost? He'd relinquished his freedom in exchange for security. Nobody dared to breach or attack Belvedere, so it was the safest place to be in that respect. But nobody ever got out either. Once you were in, you were there to stay until you died.  
  
Or worse.  
  
Suddenly, The Silver Sword's head snapped up. He barely even acknowledged Gerris as he roughly brushed past, heading for the open door, and the keeper stumbled backwards, making Cronshaw flap his wings to maintain his perch. Yet the bird didn't cry out, as most of his less-intelligent cousins would have done. Instead, he settled for picking delicately at Gerris' brown hair, grooming him and looking for insects among the greasy strands. Gerris' hand involuntarily raised and began stroking the raven's chest feathers, as he was wont to do when the bird desired comfort or reassurance.  
  
"Lordship, what do you intend to do?"  
  
"Something I should have done a long time ago," was the curt, cryptic retort.   
  
Gerris was puzzled. "But sir, what about The Rogue and her companions?"  
  
"Oh, I have special plans for them. The hunters from the Guild of Assassins shouldn't be too far behind them, and Emilios will make a nice addition to my forces."  
  
"Emilios? Forces, sir?"  
  
The Silver Sword pointedly ignored this inane remark. "I am leaving now, Gerris, and I suggest you do the same. That is, unless you wish to become a permanent resident in here?"  
  
"N... no, milord." The keeper swiftly followed his master out of the chamber, steadying his precious cargo with one hand. Abruptly he halted, casting a wary eye over his shoulder. "My liege, what about him?"  
  
The Silver Sword stopped briefly and peered back at the purple-eyed boy hanging limply in his chains. It was hard to see, but in the faint illumination of the Floatlight he could just make out the minimal rise and fall of the unfortunate youth's chest. Despite his horrific injuries, he was still alive.  
  
~Remarkable,~ the tyrant thought idly. "Leave him. He is of no more use to me."  
  
"But, milord - "  
  
The caped man spun around, eyes flashing. "Do you dare to question me, Gerris? Think carefully before you answer."  
  
Once again, Gerris awkwardly genuflected. "Never, my Lordship. Your word is law, and I must obey."  
  
"Well answered. I have no time to spend on worthless practices such as him. He will make good rat food when he dies. Let him suffer for daring to enter my lands uninvited." With that, he spun round and strode out.  
  
Gerris trailed behind, somewhat more soberly. Upon reaching the doorway, he transferred Cronshaw to his shoulder and turned to close the heavy oaken door. However, as his hands coiled around the tarnished metal handle, the blistered boy twitched, and Gerris found himself staring into twin pools of lilac. The ill-fated lad gazed pleadingly at the beast-keeper, who squirmed uncomfortably. He looked so pathetic. So helpless. He wasn't much younger than Gerris, but his eyes held the pain of a thousand tortured souls.  
  
Gerris was suddenly and inexplicably struck by the need to relieve the boy's suffering. Yet he knew he couldn't. To actively go against the Silver Sword's orders was akin to committing suicide, and Gerris wasn't ready to die yet.  
  
He began to pull at the door, and it creaked on its hinges as it swung towards him. The boy inside the chamber desperately opened his mouth, but all that came out was a hoarse coughing that sprayed blood down his chin. Geris stopped, indecisive.  
  
"I'm sorry. I can't."  
  
With a hollow click, the door closed, and the chamber was instantly plunged into darkness.  
  
*******************  
  
Ororo walked down the hallway, hands folded into her wide sleeves as usual. There was nobody about, since everyone was at lunch.   
  
Well, nearly everyone. Actually, that was the reason behind her trip. She'd noticed the absence of three particular people, and - knowing where they were - gone to fetch them before sitting down herself.  
  
The storerooms were on the second floor of the temple. Unfortunately, that meant traversing up three flights of spiral staircases to get there. As Ororo climbed breathlessly to the top of the third, she wondered why the architect who'd designed the temple had decided against normal *straight* staircases.  
  
The particular room she was looking for was situated at the other end of the corridor, and, prompted by her rumbling stomach, Ororo hurried towards it.   
  
She was mere feet away when a voice filtered through the closed door. Angry and indignant, she knew at once whom it belonged to.  
  
"Nein, nein und wieder nein!"  
  
"Aw, come on, Kurt."  
  
"Ich besagtes nein! I'm not wearing it!"  
  
"Like, why not?"  
  
"It's pink!"  
  
"Hey, you don't see me complaining."  
  
"Or me."  
  
"That's because you're both girls. You like pink. I don't. It clashes with my fur."  
  
"Like anybody's gonna notice in this place."  
  
"I'm still not wearing it."  
  
"Please, Kurt. Pretty please."  
  
"Nein, nein, nein! No way am I wearing pink, and that's final!"  
  
Intrigued, Ororo pushed the door open and went in. She found Kitty and Jubilee, both now clad in identical temple robes, facing off against Kurt, who was perched atop a pile of discarded fabric in the corner. He still wore the white sheet from earlier, wrapped about his body like a toga. In Kitty's hands was another robe. All three teenagers looked up as she entered.  
  
"What seems to be the problem in here?" she asked innocently.   
  
All three of them exchanged guilty looks, and Kitty tried to hide the vivid garment behind her back.  
  
"Problem? What problem?"  
  
"There's nothing going on in here, Temple Mother."  
  
Ororo folded her arms and raised her eyebrows. "Oh yes? Then why aren't you down at lunch?"  
  
Jubilee's face fell. "Oh gods! Lunch! I forgot!"  
  
"I'd noticed." Ororo gave a half-smile at having caught them out. "Now tell me - truthfully - what seems to be the problem in here?"  
  
Kitty sighed. "Nothing much. Kurt just refuses to, like, wear this robe." She held it out in front of her. Ororo surveyed it. The fabric was old, but not too shabby, and the colour was vibrant enough.  
  
"Why ever not, Kurt? Is there something wrong with it?"  
  
Kurt's tail waved huffily behind him, sending up a cloud of dust from the clothes he was crouched upon. "Ja, definitiv! It's pink!"  
  
Ororo took the robe from Kitty's hands and perused it. "It's magenta, actually. But I really don't see why that should be a problem."  
  
"Are you kidding?" Kurt said incredulously. "It's *pink*! *Rosafarbene*!"  
  
"And that's a problem for you?"  
  
"Of course! I'm no *girl*! Only girls wear pink!"  
  
"I'd like to see you tell Underling Crisp that. Or any other male member of the temple." Ororo looked at him, a mischievous light in her blue eyes. "You really don't want to wear it?"  
  
"Really."  
  
"All right then. Of course, you do realize that the alternative is to walk around with no clothes on at all."  
  
"Perfect if you wanna, like, scare the natives," Kitty chipped in.  
  
"Oh, ha ha." Kurt sat back on his haunches and folded his arms. "Very funny, Kätzchen. Whose side are you on, anyway?"  
  
Jubilee giggled girlishly behind her hand. "Oh, I don't know about that, Kitty. I think Underling Tabitha would be very appreciative of Kurt walking around stark naked. *Very* appreciative."  
  
Kitty sniggered in response, and - to all their surprises - so did Ororo.   
  
Kurt straightened slightly at this, vague unease appearing behind his golden eyes. "You wouldn't."  
  
Ororo didn't reply. Instead, she calmly laid the offending vestment on a nearby chair, beckoned at the two girls and made her way to the door.  
  
"Come along, you two. We're already late as it is."  
  
"Hey, wait a second! Bitte!" Kurt called after them. "You're not just going to leave me here, are you?"  
  
By way of answer, Ororo half closed the door and reached out top the key resting in the lock beneath the handle. It was clear what she was intending.  
  
"Hey!" In a trice, Kurt was off the pile of discarded clothing and bounding towards the door. However, it shut before he could get there, and he listened as the key was turned and removed.  
  
Kurt simply stared. He couldn't believe it. They'd locked him in! How could they?   
  
He frowned petulantly. It wasn't fair. It was *pink*! Why were they all having such trouble seeing his predicament? Peevishly he folded his arms, bottom lip jutting out slightly as it always did when he sulked.  
  
"That's not fair," he muttered.  
  
"I'm sorry, Kurt." Ororo's voice made him jump. He hadn't realized she was still there. A faint giggling told his sensitive ears that the two traitorous girls were also still outside. Ororo continued. "But I'm afraid I can't have you wandering around semi-dressed. It wouldn't be proper."  
  
Kurt frowned, but then a thought came to him, and he grinned, revealing small white fangs.  
  
"You know, it's pretty useless locking me up. I can just Bamf out of here any time I want to."  
  
"And where would you go, Kurt? I know you must be hungry, but if you teleport to the Great Hall where lunch is being served, then undoubtedly you will run into Underling Tabitha, or one of her matching contemporaries. And if you go anywhere else then you'll be in much the same position as you are now - albeit without clothing so close to hand."  
  
Kurt had no answer to this. So instead, he sank silently back onto his haunches. He had to admit, she had a point.  
  
"Kurt, are you, like, still there?"  
  
"Ja, I'm still here. Still hungry," Kurt replied inaudibly. Then morosely, he added, "Where else would I go?"  
  
~Ach, Ororo's right. I need to eat soon or I'll pass out again. And a lot of good that'll do me when I'm locked in a store-cupboard!~   
  
He cast a glance at the offending robe. It stared back at him placidly. Passive. Inert. And undeniably, unequivocally pink.  
  
"Kurt?" Kitty again. But this time there was a slight edge to her tone. "Kurt, are you OK in there?"  
  
Kurt pricked up his ears. Was that... *worry* that he heard?   
  
~Hang on a second, wasn't she just telling me to put on the verdammt robe? How can she sound concerned about my welfare if I'm doing what she wanted me to do?~  
  
"Kurt?" Scuffle, scuffle. "He's not saying anything. He *is* OK, isn't he?"  
  
"I'm sure he's fine, Kitty." Jubilee's voice. "He's probably just sulking."  
  
Kurt scowled. ~I am not!~ Then he paused, and reflected on what he was doing. A wry expression flitted across his furry face. ~Well, maybe just a little.~  
  
"Or he's fainted! He does that when he hasn't had enough to eat, you know. Oh gods, he may be unconscious and we, like, wouldn't even know it..."  
  
"Nein, Kätzchen. I'm still awake," Kurt called, rapping on the door for good measure. "Don't worry about me."  
  
Scuffle, scuffle. "Kurt? Humph. Why would I worry about you? You're, like, totally making us late for lunch."  
  
"Sorry, Kätzchen."  
  
"What's your problem, anyway? Just put on the stupid robe so we can leave, already. Kurt, you *know* what happens to you if you don't get enough to eat. Please, Kurt. Just wear it. Please. For me? I don't wanna, like, see you get hurt or anything."   
  
Sounds of Jubilee giggling.   
  
"What?" Kitty asked, momentarily distracted. More giggling. Kitty 'humphed' again, and turned her somewhat bruised attention back to the closed door. "And besides, I'm *hungry* you selfish little elf! Get your fuzzy butt into gear so I can get some *food*!"  
  
~But it's pink,~ Kurt though stubbornly. Yet his words were half-hearted. ~It's *pink*.~  
  
"Kurt... please?"  
  
At that moment, Kurt's reverie was swiftly broken by the sound and sensation of his stomach growling. Loudly.   
  
Whether prompted by his dissatisfied digestive system, or the pathetic pleading in Kitty's voice remains to be seen. Perhaps it was a little bit of both - but the fact remains that Kurt decided, just this once, he would swallow his pride.   
  
Still somewhat stiffly, he rose and paced across the room, grabbing the distasteful robe in one tridactyl hand and slipping it over his head in one fluid, effortlessly graceful movement. It was a simple one-piece, and in no time he'd tied the yellow belt around his middle and was back in front of the locked wooden door.   
  
He raised his fist, intending to knock to let them know he was ready, but stopped. A mischievous smile creased his mouth, and he closed his eyes and concentrated hard on the corridor outside.  
  
Kitty nearly jumped out of her skin when, with a puff of sulphurous smoke and imploding light, Kurt materialized behind her. As it was, she had been leaning with her ear pressed to the wood, listening to his progress on the other side. When he appeared with a cheerful "All done!" She jolted, banging the side of her head.  
  
"Yowch! And about time too. I'm starving."  
  
Kurt's midriff agreed with her profusely. All four of them smirked at this unintentional vocalization.  
  
"It would seem that you agree, Kurt."  
  
"Jawohl. Or at least, my stomach does."  
  
Ororo laughed. A tinkling, musical sound. "Then we'd better get it some sustenance, hadn't we? Come along, all of you. If we hurry, we won't miss anything."  
  
With various giggles and remonstrations, the party made their way to the end of the corridor, down the trio of spiral stairs and into the Great Hall without further mishap, Kurt's stomach and Kitty's mouth giving a running commentary every step of the way.  
  
*******************  
  
Ororo couldn't have known that she was incorrect when she thought that only three people were missing from lunch. The fourth didn't always eat with everyone else, sometimes preferring to eat alone in the Infirmary. Especially when she was working on the various potions and lotions kept on the shelves there, or else concocting some new and wonderful medicine. In such cases she always just grabbed something straight from the kitchens and hurried back to her work, not bothering with the idle conversations and table-talk of others.  
  
This, however, was not one of those occasions.  
  
Teah Ashari sat at her desk, quill busily moving across the sheet of parchment laid out in front of her. Every now and then she'd pause long enough to dip the huge feather into an ink well nearby, but other than that she laboured unrelentingly. Lines and lines of neat calligraphy appeared as if by magic, and soon she put aside the crammed sheet in favour of a fresh one.  
  
Yet something caused her quill to stop. It hung, poised in the air above the blanched leaf. A droplet of black began to gather at the tip, growing bulbously until finally, it fell with a faint splatter onto the parchment. The subsequent mess went unnoticed, which was unusual since Teah was, by nature, a fastidiously neat and tidy person, who abhorred messiness and could often be found with a broom or some other such cleaning paraphernalia in her small hands.   
  
Right now, though, her mind was preoccupied with something else. She stared off into space, mouth ajar as it always was when she was deep in contemplation.   
  
For all her small size and immature appearance, Teah was probably one of the most mature and practical people in the whole temple. She didn't resent things being so, but rather viewed it as simply part of her Changeling state and consequently unalterable. The idea that she'd missed out on her childhood just didn't occur to her - or of it did, she dismissed it instantly as ridiculous.  
  
Consequently, it bothered her when she was presented with a crisis she just couldn't resolve, or even understand. Her practical mind thrived on success and problem-solving, but in her current predicament she was, to put it bluntly, well and truly stumped.  
  
Absently she chewed on the end of her quill, then realized what she was doing and hastily spat out the bits of masticated feather, adding to the untidiness already present on her worktop. Surveying the sticky disorder, and realizing she'd never be able to concentrate like this, Teah sighed and laid down the disfigured quill. She pushed back her chair and slid off the pile of cushions she was forced to sit on so that she could reach the desktop.  
  
Teah's desk was located in the main body of the Infirmary instead of in a private room, so that she could better tend to her patients whenever they needed her. She'd arranged this herself specifically, and had yet to regret her decision. Sometimes, when the situation called for it, she also slept in here. The small girl was as dedicated to her patients as any elderly physician with all the experience of age. For Teah, everything came instinctively, like it had been stored inside her mind just waiting to be released when called upon.   
  
At this particular time, however, only one bed was occupied. And it was on this resident that her distracted thoughts rested.   
  
The little girl stood, arms typically folded, staring at The Rogue.  
  
The Rogue.  
  
She still couldn't believe it. The Rogue of the Guild of Assassins, here. When Ororo had dropped by and explained the girl's identity, Teah had been justifiably worried about the safety of the temple. She wasn't stupid by any stretch of the imagination, and had instantly pointed out the possibility of the hunters who would be tracking The Rogue coming here and wreaking bloody havoc. However, Ororo had just smiled in that knowing way she did and told the healer not to worry, and that everything would be fine. Somehow, when Ororo talked like that, one couldn't help but believe what she said, no matter how unreasonable the notion seemed when contemplated alone.  
  
Now though, Teah reflected on their situation. Sheltering one such as The Rogue was a dangerous business. In all honesty, she couldn't understand why Ororo had done it. The Temple Mother wasn't usually one to put her 'children' at risk if she could help it.  
  
She was keeping something from them. You didn't need to be a telepath to see that. Teah knew that Ororo possessed more knowledge than she shared. Jean knew something too. You could see in the furtive glances they cast each other every now and then - especially when talking to that demon boy and Changeling girl who'd come in with The Rogue.   
  
The Rogue.  
  
Teah looked at her. The teenage girl lay on her back, sheets pulled up to her chin until only her face was visible. Rivulets of cold sweat streaked across her pale skin and through her damp hair, and her eyebrows were knitted together in a permanent frown. She was shivering, a typical symptom of Shaking Sickness, and her breath came in short, rasping gasps that rattled loudly in her lungs.   
  
Anyone who hadn't witnessed the illness before would have been shocked by these signs, but not Teah. Where others would have been repulsed by the stench of infection, Teah saw only a patient in need of her attention and assistance.  
  
She supposed that was why the news of The Rogue's true identity hadn't bothered her as much as it should have. Had the girl been up and about, fit and able to wield a sword, then the healer might have been more concerned. As it was, all she viewed The Rogue as was a sick girl who required help just like any other person who came into her care. Just another patient.  
  
Rogue groaned through her unconsciousness, and a bead of sweat ran into the corner of her eye. She didn't even acknowledge it. Her lips moved incessantly, as if she were talking to herself so softly that nobody else could hear. Teah knew better than to listen in on such mutterings. Shaking Sickness and other diseases that entailed unconsciousness were known for rendering victims delirious, and many erstwhile carefully guarded secrets had been accidentally spilled in such uninhibited moments.   
  
She remembered once, when Underling Drake had knocked his head on a stone outside and been brought to her. He'd been out cold, and halfway through her reviving him he'd exclaimed loudly that he'd stolen a pot of honey from the kitchens that very morning and hidden in among the reeds of the pond. He'd been well and truly for it when he later realized what he'd admitted to, and had spent the next three days solid scrubbing blackened pots and pans in the kitchens as punishment, since the pot in question had sunk without trace.  
  
Teah sighed. It was pitiful really. You could tell simply by looking at her physique that The Rogue was a great warrior. For one so strong to be reduced to this was disheartening for anyone to see - a reminder of one's own mortality, and the frailty of life.  
  
Rogue groaned - a weak, pathetic scraping of breath - and tried to move her head. Immediately, Teah was at her side with a cool cloth in hand. She doused it in the bowl filled with icy water on the bedside table and laid it on the teenager's forehead. Rogue shivered again, but from the skin-to-skin contact, Teah felt that she was in actual fact burning up with fever.   
  
As she got closer, the healer inadvertently heard the delirious mumblings issuing forth, no matter how much she tried to tune them out. Rogue's weak voice was almost hypnotic, coming in short bursts, and punctuated by very un-Rogue-like whimpering. Teah found herself listening despite berating herself to the contrary.  
  
"Can't give... up. Gotta... must find... Where are... you...? Why.... why'd you le.... leave me...? ::whimper:: ... Alone... so alone.... ::whimper:: ... not my fault... not my *fault*! Why...? Pi... Piet..."  
  
Teah pulled back, ashamed at herself for listening in on such obvious privacies. It was unprofessional, and she mentally slapped herself on the wrist for it. Whether thoughts, fantasies, or even memories, it was wrong of her to invade The Rogue's personal space that way.  
  
But as she watched the pathetic girl, Teah's remonstrations of herself gave way to concern for her charge's welfare. For the umpteenth time she reminded herself that nobody had ever survived Shaking Sickness without a fully-juiced healer's help. She wished with all her practical heart that she could do what was necessary to save this one female, but could feel deep within her that her healing energy reserves were dangerously low. Fortunately, this didn't affect her everyday normal movements, since her healing strength came from quite a different cache of energy. However, if she were to attempt the process necessary for Rogue's continued existence then she knew she herself would most likely die, and there was a good chance that she would take The Rogue along with her.  
  
No, Teah knew that if The Rogue were to get through this, then she would have to do it on her own. And somehow, this saddened her immensely. The chances of survival were infinitesimal, and she sighed dejectedly. Images of faces flashed across her mind, and what it would mean to them if The Rogue were to die. She folded her arms again, surveying the rapidly deteriorating state of her patient.  
  
"I know there's little hope, my girl, but try to keep going. Try to hold on. Because if you don't, it'll truly destroy that demon boy's fragile mind. And I know that if you go, neither he, nor that girl will be long in joining you."  
  
*******************  
  
To Be Continued...  
  
*******************  
  
*TRANSLATIONS*  
  
GERMANIC:  
  
'Nein, nein und wieder nein!' ~ No, no and again, no!  
  
'Ich besagtes nein!' ~ I'm not wearing it!  
  
'Ja, definitive.' ~ Yes, definitely.  
  
'Rosafarbene.' ~ The colour pink.  
  
'Verdammt.' ~ Damn. 


	15. Amity

DISCLAIMER: X-Men: Evo belongs to Warner Bros. And Marvel Comics. I have never, and shall never own them, no matter how much I may want to. I've simply warped them to fit my own twisted mind. However, this fic and any original work herein is officially mine, and anyone trying to steal it will find out how painful a weapon a computer mouse can when used by someone with imagination.  
  
WARNINGS: This is an AU (Alternative Universe) fic. Everything has been transplanted into a fantasy universe of my creation. Inspirations, despite what you might initially think, aren't actually from a certain Peter-Jackson-esque film project, since I started work on this before I ever *saw* those movies. Influences rather include InterNutter's spiffy fic 'Mein Teuful' (if you haven't yet read this then go do it *now*!) and various other sources I'll explain later.  
  
CODES:   
  
Hello = Narration  
  
_Hello_ = Thought  
  
"Hello" = Character Speaking  
  
*Hello* = Bold  
  
//Hello// = Psychic communication  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I think it's pretty much a given now that I have to apologise whever I update for my slowness in doing so. So from now on, just pretend I did it, and we can all get on with things that much quicker.   
  
Many thanks to all who reviewed, and especially to those who left longer pieces of feedback. Ask me questions, please! I *like* answering questions, especially pertaining to the Earth Realm universe. There are so many useless bits and pieces about it I had to come up with but which shall never get mentioned in this fic because they're superfluous to the plot. Damn. *Sigh* Glad to see someone liking the Tabby interludes, though. Tabby is actually one of my preferred characters, but she kind of demands to be written a certain way, which can be taken incorrectly by some people. If I look like I'm mistreating anyone, I'm not. Chances are, if they're bad-tempered, un-likeable and mean, they're my favourites.   
  
Look out for some more cameos in this chapter, or mentions of future cameos. I'll just say in advance that this was written last year, before I saw season two and had any idea what some characters - and their accents - were like. I worked mainly from the old animated TV show of the early nineties, which means a few accents are codified (read: mangled) in such a manner as I wouldn't dream of doing nowadays.   
  
And just in answer to the question, 'what happened to Remy?' I honestly don't know. I haven't mentioned him anywhere. Did he sneak in? Did I forget to lock the door again? Is he even *in* this fic? Um... no. Guess I should just nip this one in the bud now instead of unfairly stringing people along. Remy will, in all likelihood, not make an appearance in this fic. He may be mentioned - I don't know on that front, I haven't finished it yet - but he won't be seen. I *did* have plans to use him in a punitive sequel, but now I'm not sure that's ever going to get written thanks to other commitments and my magpie-like nature where fanfiction is concerned. I get sidetracked by other projects easily.   
  
Sorry all you Cajun fans out there, but frankly, I'm sick of Romy. I used to really, really like it, and in the canon I'd still go for it, but I'm just not in any mood to write any of my own right now. Apologies.   
  
In other news, please check out the other multi-chapter Evo fic I have on the go right now, entitled 'Judgment Day'. It's a co-written project by me and several other good, solid Evo authors (including Yma and InterNutter amongst others), and deals with a post-apocalyptic landscape brought on by human intolerance to Mutantkind, and vice versa. Remy *does* make an appearance in that one, and there's lots of Elf mixed in there. Please go and review it. You'd make many authors very happy.  
  
*******************  
  
'Of Beast and Blade' By Scribbler  
  
Chapter Thirteen ~ 'Amity'  
  
*******************  
  
'When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate now knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.' -- Henri Nouwen, 'Out of Solitude'  
  
*******************  
  
Kurt's mouth hung open in shock. His golden eyes scanned the table before him incredulously, and a small gob of saliva began running down his furry chin.  
  
"Durch alle Götter in den Himmeln!" he murmured.  
  
In front of him, and also still being doled out by several Underlings and Initiates pottering about the long wooden tables and benches, was a veritable feast the likes of which he'd never known and hadn't had the presence of mind to even dream about.  
  
Changelings and other colourful folk hurried around the Great Hall carrying large loaves and knives. They paused at each place and cut a thick wedge of bread, setting it before the seated person as his or her trencher, on which the food would be served. There simply weren't enough dishes in the temple for everyone to have one; and since all were reputed to be equal, it had been agreed long ago that nobody would have one, and instead would use trenchers that could be eaten afterwards.   
  
The slice set before Kurt had been coloured green, with parsley, for extra flair. Nearby were pats of butter and soft cheese, from which his sensitive nose detected a not-unpleasant odour. It was all first-rate fare. The bread was fine and soft, with a rich crispy crust. The butter was smooth, and the cheese possessed an unusual salty tang he'd never tasted before in the hard, chewy stuff he was used to.  
  
Next to him, Jubilee shot the elf a cheerful look. "Shut your mouth, or you might catch flies in it."  
  
Kurt's jaws snapped together with a hollow click. "Entschuldigung, but I've never seen so much food all in one place. Is this whole slice for me?"  
  
She laughed. "Of course it is, stupid. Who did you think it was for? You can spread the butter and cheese on it to if you like. But be careful, don't eat it all now, or you won't have anything to put the rest on later."  
  
Kurt's eyes grew round like moons. "There's *more*?"  
  
Jubilee laughed again and tapped the side of her nose, before taking a knife and lathering her trencher in cheese. Kurt simply stared. He thought of the tough, dark, heavy bread at home, with its scant scraping of butter. How long ago that seemed now. Almost like a different lifetime.  
  
"Hey, Kurt!"  
  
He swivelled his head round to see Kitty, some way down the table on the opposite side to himself and Jubilee. Because of their late arrival, they hadn't been able to all sit together, and Kurt had found himself perched at the end, whilst Kitty was right in the middle of the bench. She waved at him, smiling.  
  
"Looks good, huh?"   
  
"Ja," he replied, barely holding his salivating in check. "Good enough to eat, in fact."  
  
The figure next to Kitty heard him and called back; "Ah wouldn't recommend it jus' yet. Else, with no trencher, ya'll have to cup ya hands fer the rest." He grinned good-naturedly, blond shaggy hair flopping into his eyes. Kurt recognized him as the tall southern youth who'd flown Rogue up to the Infirmary so spectacularly when they first arrived. "Ah'm Sam," he introduced himself. "Sam Guthrie. Formerly of the Southern Realms."  
  
"Kurt. Formerly of the Black Forest."  
  
"Ah well know who y'are," Sam replied, before turning to Kitty. "An' you, pretty missy. Ya'll are quite famous 'round here."  
  
Kitty blushed slightly at the compliment. "Really? But we just, like, got here this morning. And this place is huge. How can people already know who we are?"  
  
"Hey, when there are telepaths around, nothing stays secret for long," the girl on Kitty's other side piped up. Her short red bunches bounced flamboyantly as she stuck out her hand for Kitty to shake. "Name's Rahne Sinclair, but you can call me Rahne."  
  
"Thanks. I think," said Kitty warily, taking the proffered hand. The forthright redhead chuckled.  
  
"Besides, if anyone has a private meeting with the Temple Mother then word gets out *extra* extra fast. She doesn't give them very often, so gossip hounds just love stuff like that."  
  
Kitty blinked. "You mean Ororo?"  
  
"Wow, she's on first name terms already." Sam whistled. "Most of us call her Temple Mother. As a mark of respect, see?"  
  
"Hey, uh, Sam?" Kurt interrupted. "There was something I wanted to say earlier, but I never got the chance. Um... I just wanted to tell you... thanks. For what you did for our fr... that girl we were with."  
  
The lofty boy waved a hand, brushing Kurt's thanks aside. "Think nuthin' of it. Ah wuz jus' doin' mah duty. Would've done it fer anyone."  
  
Jubilee joined in the conversation that stretched across the width of the table. "Stop being so humble, Sam Guthrie. Initiate Ashari said herself that the girl would've died if you hadn't got her to the Infirmary so fast. You're a hero."  
  
Now it was Sam's turn to blush. "Well, when ya put it like that..."  
  
"We *do* put it like that, Mr. Guthrie - " Kitty claimed his attention again, but he cut her off.  
  
"Please, jus' call me Sam. I ain't much older than you, I'd wager, but calling me 'Mr. Guthrie' makes me feel like an ancient."  
  
"Sorry. Sam, you really are a hero. Ro - that girl," Kitty hurriedly corrected herself, hoping that nobody would notice her slip of the tongue. There was still no guarantee what the reaction would be to Rogue's true identity, and Kitty didn't want to be the one responsible for causing more trouble; "would most certainly be dead now if it wasn't for you. We're both very grateful."  
  
Rahne gave a mischievous grin. "Ooh, Sam. Sounds like you got yourself an admirer."   
  
Both Sam and Kitty's cheeks coloured, and the boy hissed out of the side of his mouth: "Shuddup, Rahne."  
  
Rahne giggled at their reaction, wolf whistling, and Jubilee joined in. Yet somehow, Kurt didn't find it funny. However, rather than lose face, he laughed alongside his newfound companions; but it was strangely forced. Inside, something stirred within his gut. Some emotion he'd never experienced before, and so couldn't properly identify. It gnawed at him as he watched Kitty and Sam's twin blushes, but still he couldn't understand what it was. All he knew was that it was extremely unpleasant.  
  
How odd. He'd never had trouble laughing before.  
  
His discomfort was forgotten, however, as two of the Changelings serving the food returned to their table with a large cooking pot carried between them. They struggled to each place, refusing help and ladling its contents onto each person's trencher with care so that nothing leaked off onto the table.  
  
Kurt leaned back, as onto his bread was served a meat pudding in a suet crust, with slices of spicy sausage around it. The clouds of scented steam rising from it filled his sensitive nostrils, and his mouth began to water in anticipation. Around him people were eating heartily, and the elf dug in with great gusto.  
  
Jubilee watched as he smacked his lips, food disappearing down his throat at a tremendous rate.   
  
"Whoa, there. You'll give yourself a tummy-ache," she warned.  
  
"Not me, Fraulein," Kurt retorted, patting his slender frame where she supposed his stomach must be located. "I can't get it in me fast enough. This food ist wunderbar!"  
  
She nodded in agreement. "I must admit, we don't usually have such fare this early in the day. As a rule, we have a smaller meal at lunch, and the larger one in the evening. The Temple Mother must have arranged things specially for you and your weird met... metab... that thing where you faint if you don't eat enough."  
  
"Metabolism," Kurt finished for her, repeating the word Rogue had said outside the gates of Zanninsa.  
  
"Yeah, that."  
  
Kurt paused in his compulsory gluttony. "Ororo could really do that? Rearrange the timetable just for one person?"  
  
"Hey, she's the Temple Mother. She can do almost anything around here. People would willingly jump off buildings if she told them to," the oriental girl replied. "Luckily, she's too sensible to do anything like that."  
  
"Wow," Kurt murmured, a driblet of grease trickling down his chin as he digested what she'd said along with his food. "Ororo has that much power around here?"  
  
"And more besides," Jubilee said with the air of one who knows, but isn't going to divulge just how they came across their information. "You don't get to be Temple Mother unless you have the ability to protect the temple. The job requires more than just brains - although they're real important too."  
  
Kurt thought about this for a moment, and a cryptic comment the dark skinned woman had made earlier abruptly popped back into his head. He frowned, contemplating it and what she'd meant, but never explained.  
  
_'I'm not a Changeling. But I'm not exactly human, either.' What did Ororo mean by that, I wonder? She certainly looks like a human. And she must have *some* kind of special powers, or else she wouldn't *be* the Temple Mother. But if she's not human, and she's not a Changeling... then what *is* she?_  
  
A hand waved in front of his face, and Kurt nearly fell off his chair, as he was startled out of his thoughts.  
  
"Yoo-hoo, reality to Kurt," Jubilee quipped. "You feeling OK? You kinda zoned out for a bit there."  
  
"Entschuldigung," Kurt hastily apologized. "I was just thinking. Fraulein, can you explain something to me? Just exactly what people *is* Ororo from? I could sense an awful lot of power in her, but she said point blank that she's not a Changeling."  
  
Jubilee nodded. "As far as any of us are aware, she's not. But I'm afraid I can't answer your question, Kurt. I don't rightly know what Ororo is. A while ago some of us played with the idea that she must be some kind of mage - "  
  
"A mage, jawohl," he interjected. "Magic like that would definitely explain the strange power I could sense."  
  
"Except that she can't be."  
  
Kurt frowned. "Why not? It makes perfect sense."  
  
Jubilee sighed. "You obviously don't know much about mages and magicians. Mages have to use objects like precious stones, staffs and wands to channel their magic. Ororo doesn't have anything like that, and from what I've heard, she doesn't need it either. Plus, mages have to drain their magic sometimes when too much of it stores up inside them. This means a big firework display, or some other kind of similar outburst. But nobody - and I mean *nobody*; not even the Initiates who've been here for *years* - can ever remember Ororo having to do anything like that."  
  
"So... if she's not a mage, then what is she?"  
  
Jubilee shrugged. "You got me."  
  
Kurt fell back into quiet speculation, and the conversation was effectively killed as both he and Jubilee returned to their food.  
  
In what seemed like no time at all, Kurt's trencher was clear. Mere moments later, Jubilee's was the same - although, hers wasn't quite as picked clean as the elf's, but near enough. Kurt raised an eyebrow at her.  
  
"You sure you haven't got a high metabolism too? You put it away fast enough."  
  
"Nah. Just a good appetite," she replied, smiling.  
  
"That's a good thing," a new voice stated from over her shoulder, "because here's the next course."  
  
The grinning Underlings with the cooking pot were back, making their way along the rows with yet more fodder. This time, however, they were also refilling any cups that needed topping up with water - a welcome thing to those tender tongues who were feeling the after effects of the spicy sausage.  
  
Kurt eagerly watched them dole out his portion of food, mouth becoming a miniature waterfall, and vaguely heard Kitty exclaim from somewhere down the table: "Man, I'm like, totally full. I don't think I can eat any more."  
  
"Aw, just a little bit. Fer me, pretty missy. Ah wuz on kitchen duty today, so this wuz all made by mah own fair hands."  
  
A burst of light giggling. "Well, since you asked so nice, Mr. Guthrie."  
  
"Sam. Just Sam, kitten."  
  
Something bubbled and gurgled inside Kurt's gut again at the sound of Kitty and Sam's idle banter, and somehow he knew it wasn't his stomach's call for more food. His eyes strayed to where they sat, and inadvertently he frowned deeply, not noticing a curious look elicited next to him by doing so.  
  
Dutifully, he ate the third course: poached cod, caught that morning from one of the temple ponds, in a thick pottage of spiced vegetables. Yet he barely remembered its flavour afterwards. His tongue felt thick, and though he gulped down smaller mouthfuls to compensate this, pieces of fish still got caught in the back of his throat - which felt rather constricted itself, when he thought about it.   
  
How very odd.  
  
Not able to properly identify what was causing this strange reaction, Kurt made an educated guess and put it down to worry for Rogue. Guilt washed over him as he realized how little he'd thought of her since his earlier audience with Ororo and Initiate Ashari, and as he summoned her back to his mind, he couldn't help fresh worry blossoming. How was she doing? Was she going to be OK? Would they let him see her later?   
  
More than once his gaze slid across to the spiral staircase that he knew led to the Infirmary, which was just visible through the huge double doors they'd entered the Great Hall through from the corridor outside. His gaze was troubled. Noticeably so.  
  
Jubilee saw him and, guessing his train of thought, laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry," she whispered reassuringly. "She'll be fine. Just keeping believing that, and she'll be OK. Positive thinking. It works wonders, trust me."  
  
Kurt swivelled his head around. "You think so?"  
  
Jubilee shook her head, expression grave, and for an instant his face fell.   
  
"I know so."  
  
It took a moment for her joke to sink in, but when it did, Kurt gave her his trademark grin and playfully pushed her hand away. "Danke schon, Frauline."  
  
"Any time, fuzz-butt."  
  
He laughed, popping another mouthful of pottage into his ever-ready maw and chewing vigorously. Flecks of carrot sprayed around his fangs as he continued to chuckle, and Jubilee pulled a face and good-humouredly poked him in the chest.  
  
"Eew! Say it, don't spray it, Kurt! I wanna eat my lunch, not wear yours."  
  
"Sorry, Frauline. I'll try not to waste it on you. It's too good for that."  
  
"Too good? Why you little - "  
  
The two erupted into peals of laughter, as Jubilee proceeded to lunge at Kurt, tickling him as best she could through the folds of his robe. Kurt tried to keep a straight face, but failed as she discovered a particularly ticklish spot beneath his arm. He exploded into a fit of giggles, sending a glob of half-chewed onion sailing through the air to land with a faint 'splot' on the floor. The unexpected missile was greeted by exclamations from the other Underlings at their table.  
  
"Eew, gross!"  
  
"Who did that?"  
  
"Good aim, whoever it was."  
  
"Good aim? I got sprayed as it went over. Yuk!"  
  
"It's a good look for you."  
  
"Oh yeah?"  
  
Laughter spread down the rows like wildfire, as it was wont to do among contented people. Some laughed without really knowing what they were laughing at; others were genuinely amused at Kurt and Jubilee's antics. In fact, very few didn't share in this spirit of good feeling. Mainly the older, more stoic members of the temple, whose faces - some of the Underlings joked - would probably crack if they ever attempted a smile.  
  
Eventually, the meal was over, and those assigned to kitchen duty - amongst them, Sam - dutifully rose from their places, collected together all the dishes they could carry, and made their way to the kitchens to begin the washing up. Everyone else waited until their table was dismissed, before also rising and filing out of the Great Hall to return to their chores for the afternoon.  
  
As the single file deteriorated into a mass of milling people in the corridor, Kurt quickly made his way over to Kitty's side. Jubilee hurried to catch up with them, but found herself cut off by a swarm of chuckling Underlings.  
  
"Hey, move along will ya? I'm gonna lose them," she muttered, pushing and shoving against the horde of moving bodies that seemed intent on taking her in the wrong direction.  
  
"Move along yerself," shot back a cheeky boy, who - she noted indignantly - was barely half her age.  
  
Jubilee grunted, catching sight of a blue pelt some way up ahead and praying it was Kurt and not Initiate McCoy, the Master of Libraries. Just then, a hand fell on her shoulder, and she quickly turned to see Rahne Sinclair grinning at her, red pigtails bouncing as usual.  
  
"Feeling the pressure a little?" she asked.  
  
"Just slightly. I gotta catch up to Kitty and Kurt before they get lost. They don't know their way around properly yet. Some guide I'll be if I lose them on the first day."  
  
Rahne smirked knowingly. "I don't know. If what I saw in the Great Hall is anything to go by, they may welcome being alone in each other's company for a while. At least, one of them might."  
  
Jubilee paused a moment, letting the crowd wash around her. "You saw him too?"  
  
For a moment, Rahne looked confused. "Him? I was talking about *her*. Didn't you see the look on Kitty's face when you and blue-boy were tickle-fighting?"  
  
Jubilee had to admit that she hadn't. "I was kinda preoccupied with not getting covered in spittle at that point."  
  
"Really? I could practically warm my hands on her face, it was so red. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so jealous. Except for Tabby, maybe." Rahne giggled; a light, musical sound.  
  
Jubilee listened in surprise. "Kitty was jealous of *me*?"  
  
"If the look on her face was anything to go by, yeah. Hey, how come you're smiling like that?"  
  
"Because Kurt virtually turned green when he was looking at Kitty and Sam. He tried to cover it up, but I saw it anyway," Jubilee said through a smile that showed all of her teeth. She leaned in conspiratally. "Thing is, I don't think he recognized his feelings himself."  
  
Rahne slapped her hands together and rubbed them, mischievousness evident in her green eyes. "Ooh, the plot thickens. D'ya reckon she knows about them?"  
  
"I don't think so. Likewise with Kurt"  
  
"Aah, sweet." Another giggle. "Think we should let them know?"  
  
"Why? Probably better to let them figure it out on their own."  
  
"Och, you're nae fun." The redhead pouted. Then she visibly brightened. "Maybe I'll just tell them anyway."  
  
"You dare, Rahne!" Jubilee admonished, wagging a finger at her. "Leave them alone. If it really *is* something then one of them will say something. If not, you'll just be doing more harm than good by opening your big mouth."  
  
"I wouldn't talk so loudly, if I were you," Rahne said flippantly.  
  
Instantly, Jubilee became suspicious. She was well used to Rahne's pranks, which had - on occasion - outstripped her own. "Why not?"  
  
"Because, motormouth, they're standing right over there." She pointed to the side of the corridor, where both Kitty and Kurt were pressed up against the wall, scanning the crowd for their absent escort.   
  
Jubilee turned back to her grinning cohort, who just smiled innocently.   
  
"Now who's got a big mouth, you great numpty?"  
  
"Touché. Don't you have somewhere to be?"  
  
"Aye. See you later, Jubes. Looks like your two charges have somewhere in particular they wanna go. Hope you can keep your big mouth shut until you get there."  
  
With this parting comment, the exuberant girl melted into the crowd and disappeared from sight. Jubilee watched her go incredulously.   
  
_How the heck does she *do* that? I'm sure I had the upper hand for a minute there._  
  
"Frauline! Jubilee, over here!"  
  
Kurt's accented cries captured her attention once more, and, with a shake of her head, Jubilee fought her way over to he and Kitty. Kurt greeted her with his customary toothy beam.  
  
"Thought we'd lost you for a moment there, Frauline."  
  
"Yeah. You, like, totally had us worried. This is a big place to get lost in," Kitty quipped.  
  
"Well now you found me, and it's time for me to give you guys the grand tour," said Jubilee, panting a little from her exertions. She straightened her robe and smoothed down her hair. "Any place in particular you wanna go?"  
  
Kurt seemed hesitant for a second before speaking. "Well, now that you mention it, ja. There *is* somewhere I'd particularly like to visit."  
  
*******************  
  
Initiate McCoy wasn't exactly the kind of person you'd expect to find in a library. Being seven feet tall, muscular, and covered in coarse blue fur, it was twice as bizarre to see him dressed in a flowing pink robe, walking about with a thick book constantly tucked under his arm and wire-framed eye-glasses perched precariously on his snout. In all, he made quite a peculiar picture.  
  
However, what many people failed to realize was that behind this fearsome countenance was a lightening quick mind. The kind of mind that would have given the most intelligent scholars in all the realms a run for their money if they didn't run screaming from him in fright first.  
  
Thus it was that Initiate McCoy - or Hank, as he preferred to be known - had become Master of Libraries at The Temple of The Way without competition from anyone else for the position. His intellect couldn't be matched within the walls of the temple - which was sometimes not such a good thing.   
  
You see, Hank loved information and learning, and there was nothing he enjoyed more than a deep philosophical discussion with anyone who cared to hold one. However, since most of the temple dwellers considered his acumen 'out of their league', he rarely got the chance. Similarly, he adored explaining things, but the majority of folk couldn't understand his highbrow explanations, and instead avoided asking him questions if they could help it.  
  
So it was with great pleasure that he regarded the two teenagers who stood before him now, asking to 'pick his brains' as one of them put it.  
  
"I'd be delighted to help," he boomed. "Just tell me what you require and I'll happily elucidate."  
  
The boy's face took on an expression of confusion. "Was sagten Sie?" He said in a heavy Germanic accent. "I'm sorry. My Common Tongue is not so good."  
  
"He said, just tell him what you wanna know and he'll spill." The girl by his side swiftly elbowed him in the ribs for his rudeness.   
  
Hank raised an eyebrow. Evidently, the Germanic boy was new. He should've guessed. Especially with that rather... atypical appearance. Yes, he definitely would have noticed someone like *that* before.  
  
"Ach, ja. Now I understand," the boy said, rubbing his side ruefully and glaring daggers at the girl. Hank almost laughed at the pair of them. "Please excuse mein rudeness, Herr McCoy, but do you know anything about medical conditions?"  
  
Hank smiled broadly. "My specialty. Science is my forte, dear boy. What exactly do you have in mind?"  
  
"Shaking Sickness."  
  
This time both of Hank's eyebrows rose as he abruptly realized to whom he was speaking. "You came in with that girl this morning, didn't you? The one who has Shaking Sickness and is now lying in the Infirmary?"  
  
Both teenagers seemed shocked that he could so easily guess their purpose, despite not having been present when the bell was tolled that morning.  
  
"How did you - " the girl began, momentarily forgetting her manners.  
  
Hank tapped the side of his nose. "Initiate Ashari may be gifted, but she's still young, and not above seeking advice where she needs it." He pushed his glasses back up from where they had slipped down, expression thoughtful. "If it's Shaking Sickness you wish to know about, then I think I have just the thing. Come with me, please."  
  
The adolescent pair obediently followed him as he made his way ploddingly through row upon row of tall, dusty bookshelves. They paced further and further into the sprawling temple libraries, until neither had the faintest idea where they were, or how to find their way out again without Hank's aid. In some places, his large feet left perceptible impressions in the dust that liberally coated the floor, signalling that they were now in territory that had not been occupied for many moons.  
  
Kurt drew closer to Jubilee, whispering in the reverent tone that everyone seems to reserve for empty libraries. "Any idea where we are?"  
  
She shook her head. "Nope. Not a clue. Personally, I think Kitty got the sweeter end of this deal by ducking out. I *hate* libraries at the best of times, and dust makes me sneeze."  
  
Kurt flashed her a fanged grin. "Not an avid reader then?"  
  
"Not when it's gonna bring on a sneezing fit." As if to emphasize her remark, her nose wrinkled and a loud sneeze suddenly rent the air.  
  
"Gesundheit."   
  
"Thanks." She sniffed loudly. "Although, by rights, this is your fault. It was *your* idea to come up here in the first place."  
  
"Sorry, Frauline," the elf apologized, "but I just had to know what we're dealing with. What *Rogue* is dealing with. I just thought that perhaps if I knew a little more about her illness..."  
  
"Say no more, Kurt. I understand." Jubilee sneezed again. "But my nose is gonna need a personal apology after this." She sniffled morosely. "Say, did Kitty tell *you* where she was going?"  
  
"Nein, she didn't. Just said there was 'something she had to do', and she'd find us when she was finished with it."  
  
"Any ideas?"  
  
"Jawohl," Kurt responded, thinking about how Kitty had politely, but firmly excused herself, yet not needed a guide to escort her to her destination. "I have at least one idea where she's going."  
  
"We're here," boomed a familiar baritone up ahead.   
  
Kurt and Jubilee rounded the corner of a bookcase and nearly ran smack into Hank, who was standing staring up at a particularly lofty shelf of books.  
  
"The text we seek is located somewhere up there." He gestured with one massive hand. "But as to its precise whereabouts, I'm afraid I'm a bit uncertain. It has been some time since I needed this particular volume." He started towards a rickety looking stepladder attached on runners to the side of the case.   
  
Jubilee stepped in front of him. "Hey, whoa. No disrespect, Initiate McCoy, but you can't climb that thing. It's dangerous."  
  
Hank nodded. "It does seem rather unstable, I'll admit. But you need that book, and I intend to get it for you. What sort of a Librarian would I be if I didn't?"  
  
"Allow me, Herr McCoy." Kurt bounded forward. "I can fetch it easily if you just tell me where to look."  
  
Hank appraised Kurt's slenderer frame, and cast another critical look up at the steps with regards to his own bulkiness. "Well, all right then. But be careful. The book you are looking for is entitled 'A Physician's Guide' by Lomex Saude. If I remember correctly, the cover is red with gold edges. It should be on the second from top shelf."  
  
"Ich bin auf es." Kurt proclaimed, before vanishing in a puff of sulphurous smoke and collapsing light.   
  
Hank blinked in surprise at the spot he'd vacated. "Amazing."  
  
"You ain't seen nothing yet." Jubilee indicated upwards.  
  
Hank turned to her. "What do you - "  
  
He didn't have time to finish, as Kurt reappeared at the top of the stepladder. However, as with the 'Towel Incident', his landing still needed some work. He clung to the rungs upside down, staring at the two pink-robed onlookers as the blood began unexpectedly rushing to his head.  
  
"I'm OK," he called. _At least I'm actually *on* the ladder._ Then he transferred his attention to the bookshelf in front of him - still upside down. His versatile feet and amazing toes gripped the aging stepladder as he searched for the elusive book, pulling out one, then another copy with his free hands, then returning each as the wrong one.  
  
Eventually he found what he was looking for, and concentrated on the ground below. Another 'Bamf' later and he was back on the floor, this time right side up.  
  
_I must be getting better,_ he thought to himself proudly, before handing 'A Physician's Guide' over to Initiate McCoy and allowing his light-headedness to clear.  
  
Hank leafed purposefully through the substantial book, and then showed it to his audience of two. "Here we go. I believe this is the page you require."  
  
Kurt took the tome from him, allowing Jubilee room to peer over his shoulder. Quickly his golden eyes inspected the delicately written script - Common, of course - digesting everything Lomax Saude had to say about Shaking Sickness. His heart sank a couple of notches with each sentence.  
  
_*SACUDARIR-ENFERMEDAD*  
  
'Commonly known as 'Shaking Sickness', this deadly disease is often elicited after being exposed to harsh conditions, and can affect anybody regardless of age or previous physical state. Symptoms vary, but often include any of the following: uncontrollable shivering, fever, intractable coughing, delirium, vomiting, internal bleeding and/or mental breakdown.  
  
'It has been known that during Shaking Sickness, a victim may encase themselves within their own impenetrable mental fortress. That is to say, they are virtually catatonic, responding to no outside influences, and essentially trapped inside their own mind. Such cases are rare, but not unheard of, and are often the result of repressed memories reacting with the delirium caused by fever. If a sufferer does survive this, then there is usually lasting mental damage.   
  
'Unless aided by a healer, victims of Sacudarir-Enfermedad rarely survive the illness. It has been likened in the past to a more powerful hybrid of Pneumonia and Pleurisy. Death usually occurs within a few days, but can be caused sooner by side effects such as ruptured lungs from extended coughing, asphyxiation, or as a result of complete mental shutdown. Unfortunately, without a healer, there is no known cure. Mortality rate is high, and there has not yet been a recorded incident of a victim recovering by themselves.'_  
  
  
  
There was some more, but by this point Kurt's vision was clouded as he blinked unruly tears from his eyes. He heard Jubilee cover a sharp intake of breath as she too read the horrific fate awaiting Rogue should she fail to recover, and he could feel Initiate McCoy's sombre gaze boring into them. The Library Master had known about this. That's why he'd chosen to show them the book rather than tell them himself. Kurt let out a small sad sigh, and a few short words hitched in his throat as one solitary droplet escaped and trickled down his furry face.  
  
"Oh, Rogue."  
  
*******************  
  
Teah was busily working when the knock at the door came. Soft and tentative, it was obvious that the person on the other side was hesitant to cross the threshold uninvited. The blonde child looked up from her work, half annoyed at the intrusion, half relieved at the distraction. She hadn't progressed much since her earlier interval, and was finding typical tasks burdensome and onerous to say the least.  
  
"Enter," she called, voice still as clipped as usual.  
  
The heavy door creaked ajar, and a pale face peeked through. Teah recognized it instantly.  
  
"Yes? Is there something I can do for you?"  
  
The owner of the face shrank back a little at her harsh tone. "Excuse me, Initiate Ashari, I'm not interrupting you am I?"  
  
Teah snorted. "What's the point in asking senseless questions? Knocking at the door disturbed me already, so you might as well say your piece and disturb me further." Her quill tapped irritably on the tabletop. "Well? Are you going to stand out there all day? Come in, girl!"  
  
Hastily the door opened a sliver more, and Kitty slid into the Infirmary before closing it behind her. Warily, she observed the small girl perched at the desk, blue eyes flickering inadvertently over to the rows of evil-tasting tonic she'd been forced to swallow earlier. Her stomach quailed at the memory, and she swallowed several times before speaking.  
  
"Sorry. I... I just wanted to see Rogue. If that's possible?"  
  
Teah regarded her for a second, before sighing and jerking a thumb over her shoulder. Kitty looked to see a row of beds, all of them neatly made up, save for one. Gratefully, the teenager muttered her thanks to the miniature healer, and walked quickly towards the lump contained therein.  
  
"But I warn you, it's not a pretty sight," Teah called after her, bending over the mound of papers once more.  
  
Kitty heard, but didn't reply. Steeling herself, and taking a deep breath for strength, she went to Rogue's bedside and cautiously peered down.  
  
If possible, Rogue looked even worse than Kitty had imagined - and she'd imagined pretty bad. The piebald hair was damp with perspiration, and clung to her forehead in great clumps and knots. Rivulets of sweat ran freely onto the pillow, and Kitty didn't have to touch to know that both it and the sheets were drenched. Rogue's ashen skin had faded to near translucency, veins bulbous and pulsating repulsively, and her eyes appeared sunken and dead within her skull. Every now and then they'd flicker open as an accompaniment to her incessantly moving mouth; but the green revealed beneath was dull and unfocused, as if seeing beyond the reality of the Infirmary. Past it, into something only she was privy to.   
  
Kitty stifled a gasp. She'd never seen Rogue look so... helpless. Even when dangling upside down in the death grip of a Displacer Beast's tentacle, she'd always been surrounded by an aura of control. An aura that now seemed shattered and fragmented, running away from her in tiny droplets of bodily fluid. It was almost enough to make her nauseous. That and the swell of memories, which bubbled to the surface at the all-too-familiar sight of a stricken face.  
  
Kitty nearly yelped as something grasped hold of her shoulder. She turned to look up into Initiate Ashari's eyes, not even realized until that moment that she'd sunk to her knees.  
  
"You OK?" asked the healer.   
  
Kitty gulped and nodded.   
  
A wry expression twisted Teah's lips. "Don't lie. I can sense something's amiss."  
  
Kitty slumped onto her heels. "I... I never..." she began, and then stopped, took a deep breath, and started again. "I never thought it would be this bad. She looks so... so weird. Almost like a different person."  
  
"Yes. *Almost*," Teah reminded her. "But remember, whatever this may look like, it's still your friend in there. Below the surface."   
  
Rogue coughed, eyelids snapping back for a second with a faint but desperate whisper. "Don't go! Please, don't leave me!"   
  
Kitty jerked forward, out of Teah's grasp, but the ex-assassin fluttered back into unconsciousness once more.   
  
Unbidden, hot tears stung the backs of Kitty's eyes, threatening to leak onto her cheeks. She couldn't *bear* it. Despite all the threats, all the insults, the intimidation and potential violence, Kitty balked to see Rogue reduced to such a pitiful state. She was *The* Rogue. The strong, unbendable Rogue, who'd taken on the might of the Guild and was winning. She was the only one ever to break with their ancient tradition; the girl who chose her own path instead of meekly following the route laid down for her generations ago, wailing and tossing in a sickbed, sweating her life away. For Kitty, it was too horribly familiar. Too reminiscent of her own parents' deaths. The younger girl bit her lip hard, and a coppery tang spread across her tongue. Blood.  
  
Blood.  
  
Blood on the wood.  
  
Suddenly, cool hands pressed themselves to her temples. Kitty started, but relaxed as Teah's voice, strangely gentle, floated into her ear.  
  
"Shhh. Hush, now. Hush."  
  
At once, a balmy sensation seemed to flow into her head. It leaked out of Teah's massaging fingertips, making its way through her fervent brain and soothing the tension there. Calming her. Helping her to deal with the upsurge of painful memories.   
  
The hands removed themselves. "Better now?" Teah asked.   
  
Kitty nodded. "Much. But you shouldn't have wasted your powers on me. You're supposed to be conserving them."  
  
The fair-headed child shook her head. "Had to. You were sailing dangerously close to hysteria just then. Who knows what kind of damage you could've done if you'd actually fallen into it? Might even have ended up in a bed here yourself. A great help to your friend *that* would be."  
  
"I suppose..." Kitty admitted. She looked back at Rogue, who lay twitching. Oblivious to the world around her. "I just wish there was something I could *do*. I mean, I know I can't do anything, like, medically; but I wish..." She trailed off. "I wish..."  
  
Teah glanced at her sharply.   
  
Kitty rocked back, expression thoughtful, before asking; "Where did they put them?"   
  
"Where did *who* put *what*?"  
  
"Rogue's armour. I had it with me when I arrived. Where is it?"  
  
Teah scratched her head. Things had been so busy when The Rogue was brought in; it had been difficult to concentrate on anything else. But still... "I think one of the Underlings put it away. I was preoccupied at the time, but I *think* he put it..."   
  
Purposefully she strode across the room, a vague scuffling telling her Kitty had scrambled to her feet to follow.  
  
Beneath the window Sam had entered via that morning was a large, open-top chest of dubious origin and material. It was rarely used, since the lid was so heavy it took three people to shift it, but if Teah's memory served her correctly, then Underling Frederick would have had no problem with something like that; and - not being the most intelligent person in Earth-Realm - he wouldn't have foreseen what opening it again later would entail for people not imbued with super-strength.  
  
"It *should* be in here," she remarked as Kitty joined her side, "but a lot of good that'll do you. I doubt either of us can move that lid on our own. You'd have to call one other person to help us, at least."  
  
"No need." Kitty rolled up her sleeves. Teah quirked an eyebrow, wondering what she was up to.  
  
Kitty closed her eyes and concentrated, summoning the abilities she'd so recently gained control of. They came to her mental grasp, quicker than before, thus proving her increased power over them. Apparently the adage 'practice makes perfect' was true after all.  
  
Opening her eyes, she plunged both arms through, and into the chest up to her elbows. Teah goggled for a moment, and Kitty recalled idly that she'd probably been unaware as to what her Changeling powers actually were before now. Yet her own attention was divided.  
  
_Now comes the tricky part,_ she thought. _Making sure I don't, like, phase right through the armour without even noticing it's there._  
  
She concentrated, willing her fingers to become solid flesh again, but not the rest of her arms. Her unyielding hands fumbled around for a moment, until they came to rest on something cold and hard. One knuckle-rap against it elicited a distinctly metallic clink, barely audible through the thick chest. She probably wouldn't have heard it at all had her ear not been virtually pressed to the wood.  
  
_Got it!_  
  
Carefully, she gripped her prize tightly, willing her fingers not to pass straight through the metal. It was certainly heavy enough, and she marvelled at how she'd carried it so far from the river without collapsing sooner. After a few painstaking minutes, it was successfully dragged through the side of the chest, to land with a hollow 'clunk' on the wooden floor.  
  
Kitty released it with relief, wiping her brow where beads of concentration-induced sweat had manifested. Her cheeks were red, her breath short, and her mind ached with effort, but she felt satisfied.   
  
_At least I'm, like, getting better at the whole self-control thing._  
  
Teah drew closer with an admiring whistle. "Nice work. A little unorthodox for my tastes, but nice."  
  
"Thanks. I think."   
  
Kitty's gaze fell critically upon Rogue's armour. She knelt down beside it, questing with her hands for something in particular. Eventually she found it, and with a hollow 'snikt', drew Rogue's sword out of its scabbard. It gleamed drearily in the sunlight from the window, sheen dulled by the coating of red smeared and dried across it. The Changeling twisted it this way and that, holding the blade upright to get a better look, and noting that the crimson coating spread down and onto the hilt and pommel.  
  
"Watch what you're doing with that, girl," Teah warned. "That's a dangerous weapon, not some toy to be waved about without regard."  
  
Yet Kitty wasn't listening. "This is terrible!" she cried in dismay.  
  
"What is?"  
  
"This!"  
  
"What?"   
  
"*This*!" Kitty answered irritably. "Can't you see?"  
  
"I can see, all right. I just don't understand what you mean. *What* is so terrible?" Teah demanded, exasperation clear in her young voice.  
  
Kitty didn't even spare her a look, instead lowering the sword blade and running one hand along the flat of it. Flakes of red came away on her skin, and floated to the floor. "Rogue once told me that, according to Guild Lore, an assassin's sword contains part of his or her spirit. A tiny portion of soul woven into the metal. It only happens when a true warrior holds the sword; someone truly at home with a blade. If you'd ever seen Rogue in battle, you'd know the real meaning of 'swordsmanship'. She doesn't seem whole without a weapon in her hand, and handles it so well it seems like just an extension of her arm." She stared up at Teah, eyes shining. "Now I know how I can help her."  
  
Teah frowned, bemused by the ostensibly incoherent babble. "What are you talking about? How are you going to help her?" _Foolish girl. Sounds like gibberish to me. Souls in swords? Folklore, and nothing more._  
  
"By cleaning her sword," Kitty stated triumphantly.  
  
Now Teah was well and truly lost. "Excuse me? How in the names of all the gods is cleaning a bit of metal going to help her recover from Shaking Sickness?"  
  
Kitty sighed. "It's hard to explain. The way I see it, Rogue's spirit - or at least part of it - is contained within the fabric of her sword. As long as the blood of the Displacer Beast taints it, her spirit's also incapacitated with the side effects her fight with the creature caused. It's, like, symbolic. Her spirit is trapped by the beast's blood, and Rogue is trapped by the sickness she got fighting the same beast. So, if I remove the blood, then I'll be removing the symbolic barrier trapping her soul, which may help her to heal. It makes perfect sense when you think about it."   
  
Teah had heard enough. "I've never heard anything so ludicrous in all my life! I don't see how polishing just one strip of dirty metal can possibly aid a sick girl's health. It's impossible!"  
  
Kitty's jaw set. "It may not seem like much to you, but believe me, it'd mean so much to her. She never *ever* left her sword dirty after she'd used it. It was like she just *couldn't*. So I'm going to carry on what she started."  
  
"But it's just one sword - "  
  
"Then I'll clean her dagger as well. And her knife. And the rest of her armour. I'll polish it all, and make it shine like it never shone before, because *I* know that it'll make a difference. If not physically, then spiritually."  
  
Teah stared at the sullen teenager, who glared back at her with unconcealed vehemence.   
  
_She *really* believes this is going to work. Such a stupid notion. I've never heard anything so ridiculous._   
  
Kitty continued to glower, as if challenging the healer to dispute her feelings more. Teah looked irritably into her eyes, and saw with surprise a conviction there she'd rarely seen in others. It was so strong, and sparkled so profusely in those two blue orbs that, for a second, she could have been gazing at Ororo herself. It was the exact same conviction held in the Temple Mother's gaze when she made a decision about something; the same certainty that she was right. Teah blinked, momentarily bemused; but when she looked back, there was only a surly teenage girl clutching a soiled sword once more.  
  
Teah sighed, and turned to go. Kitty's head drooped tiredly, but snapped up again as the healer called over one shoulder:  
  
"Come on. I've got some old bandages over here you can use as rags. They're made of coarse fibres, so they should scrub the dried blood and dirt off nicely."  
  
Kitty's eyebrows shot up in surprise at this odd change of heart, but she didn't push her luck by ignoring the offer. Instead, she hauled herself to her feet and tottered behind the Initiate, ready to begin the arduous task she'd set herself.  
  
"Thank you."   
  
"Meh," was the only response she received.  
  
It was as Teah fumbled around in a drawer - which, by rights, had been designed for a taller person to reach - that Rogue screamed. Kitty nearly jumped out of her skin, but instead backed into Teah, whose head then crashed against the bottom of the drawer, sending the medical contents of it sprawling across the floorboards. Teah cursed under her breath, revealing a blue vocabulary far beyond her tender years.  
  
Kitty stared, yelping, as Rogue proceeded to screech again; an unearthly sound, like a howl of pain mixed with the death-cry of some poor suffering beast. It grated across their eardrums and reverberated inside their skulls, refusing to go away.  
  
"What... what's going on?" Kitty stuttered, clamping her hands down over her ears. "Why's she screaming like that? What's wrong with her?"  
  
Teah rubbed at her scalp where a sizable lump was now appearing. Boy, was she going to feel *that* one in the morning. "A side-effect of the fever, I'm afraid. She's been doing that on and off for the past couple of hours. Sometimes it lasts for quite a few minutes. Last time I had to get Frederick to hold her down, she was thrashing about so much." Her eyes narrowed "That said, I'd better call him again. He's the only one who can deal with her like this without fear of being hurt. Virtually indestructible, is Frederick," she said by way of explanation at Kitty's confused expression.  
  
"Then... then this is, like, *normal*?"   
  
"As normal as you can get when you're delirious from Shaking Sickness." Teah winced as her fingers found a particularly painful spot, and mentally resolved to leave the bump alone until it went down.  
  
"B-but it's so horrible." Kitty shivered. "She sounds in pain."   
  
As if to emphasize this, Rogue screamed again. Her cry ripped through the air, not needing words to communicate the anguish in it.  
  
"Probably because she is," Teah replied dispassionately. "I believe this is a reaction to the delirium her mind has trapped itself within. She's reprocessing past events and machinations to the point where they cause her actual, physical harm."  
  
"Huh? In Common Tongue, please."  
  
Teah sighed. Honestly, teenagers expected everything spelled out to them syllable by syllable. The irony of the situation seemed to escape her entirely.  
  
"The way I figure it, your friend is experiencing images and thoughts that affect her so much they have transferred themselves to a physical state. In short, the more she thinks about them, the more they hurt her body in the real world. They could be anything. Fears - "  
  
"Rogue doesn't have any fears. She's... well, she's The Rogue."  
  
Teah glared at her. "Everyone has fears. *Everyone*. Or they could be nightmares she's dreamt in the past. They could even be repressed memories; events she's been trying to forget, but have pushed their way to the forefront of her mind now that she has no control over keeping them in check."  
  
"But that's awful." Kitty exclaimed again, horrified. She thought of all the things Rogue must have done during her life as an assassin. True, that life was over for her now, but still, the memories would remain...  
  
_All those people she killed on missions. And some of the things she must have seen in the war-torn lands she visited. Poor Rogue. Nobody should have to see that once, let alone over and over again._  
  
"Isn't there anything we can, like, do? I mean; we can't just leave her like that. It's inhumane and cruel if it's hurting her."  
  
"There's nothing we *can* do," Teah said matter-of-factly. "I can give her herbs to ease the pain, but I can't stop what's happening inside her mind. That's telepaths' territory, not mine, and they can't do anything because of the mental barriers she's set up. It's a vicious circle. We can't get in to help her, and she can't get out to help herself until the fever breaks, which could be any time between now and the next time the moon waxes full."  
  
Rogue yelped, striking empty air with a clenched fist, as she battled some unseen opponent. Kitty edged closer to the fallen girl, but stayed on the periphery, so as not be hit by a flailing limb. Rogue's eyelids were clenched, and her jaw was set like steel. Beads of sweat flew into the air as she lashed against the saturated sheets. It made the Changeling's kind heart wrench not to be able to help. Instinctively, she reached out and snagged one of the whirling hands, wrapping her own fingers comfortingly into the ex-assassin's clammy ones in a way she never would have had courage to do had Rogue been awake.   
  
"You're sure there's, like, nothing I can do to help her? Nothing at all?"  
  
"Nothing," came the firm answer.   
  
Kitty gazed at Rogue, both saddened and confused by the remorseful feeling she felt for the girl who'd been so violent towards her. Rogue had never welcomed Kitty's presence, but fought valiantly to save her life anyway. The mark of a true warrior. And friend.  
  
Friend?  
  
_Is that what you are to me now, Rogue? A friend?_ Kitty wondered. _Would you see it that way? I don't know what to think any more. Friendship just isn't a word I'd associate with someone like you; someone so harsh. But still... the way you were with Kurt when his Mom died...  
  
_Oh, I wish I knew what was going on inside your mind, Rogue, so that I could help you. Stupid, I know, since you don't even *like* me. But I need to repay you for what you've done. I want to say thank you, somehow... someway. Whatever's happening in there, whatever memories you're reliving or whatever, you have to know that Kurt and I will be here for you. We owe you our lives, Rogue, and we're not going to just sit idly by and let yours slip away from because of it, you hear. We're gonna, like, keep hoping, no matter what._  
  
A defiant whisper escaped her lips, as her fingers tightened around the stricken girl's hand. Her knuckles bleached, and for a second her eyes became flinty and grey - not at all like their normal blue. They flickered only an instant, darkening to a blackish tinge, and then switched back to their usual colouring; but the whisper hung on the air, almost tangible in the tense atmosphere, and filled with such a sense of promise as to almost seen unnatural.  
  
"No matter *what*!"  
  
*******************  
  
To Be Continued...  
  
*******************  
  
*TRANSLATIONS*  
  
GERMANIC  
  
Durch alle Götter in den Himmeln! ~ By all the gods in the sky!  
  
Was sagten Sie? ~ What did you say?  
  
Ich bin auf es! ~ I'm on it! 


	16. Intrigues of a Reflected Dream

DISCLAIMER: X-Men: Evo belongs to Warner Bros. And Marvel Comics. I have never, and shall never own them, no matter how much I may want to. I've simply warped them to fit my own twisted mind. However, this fic and any original work herein is officially mine, and anyone trying to steal it will find out how painful a weapon a computer mouse can when used by someone with imagination.  
  
WARNINGS: This is an AU (Alternative Universe) fic. Everything has been transplanted into a fantasy universe of my creation. Inspirations, despite what you might initially think, aren't actually from a certain Peter-Jackson-esque film project, since I started work on this before I ever *saw* those movies. Influences rather include InterNutter's spiffy fic 'Mein Teuful' (if you haven't yet read this then go do it *now*!) and various other sources I'll explain later.  
  
CODES:   
  
Hello = Narration  
  
_Hello_ = Thought  
  
"Hello" = Character Speaking  
  
*Hello* = Bold  
  
//Hello// = Psychic communication  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Many thanks to all who reviewed last time - ezrajade, Yumiko, Quill of Molliemon, Harry Wriggle, Klutz, Emerald Lightning Goddess, UnknownSource, Malk, Ashika, Yma, Alliriyan and Yeb. You have all earned warm and fuzzy places in my heart. ^_^  
  
You know, it's weird when I go back and re-read this thing. I never really realised how much some scenes resemble those from other books. The Redwall series, especially. I can assure people, it's my subconscious at work and nothing more. I'm not trying to steal anything from anyone. *Looks sheepish* Sarah Zettel? She and I share teabag tastes.   
  
Did I know what was going on at Marvel when I wrote about Kurt's father being a demon? Uh, no. Actually, I didn't. What lottery numbers do I like? 123456789.  
  
Harry... your review scared me a little. But then, it made me laugh, too. Stream-of-consciousness babble is what makes the world turn, in my opinion. No doubt you'll be the first to pick up on the big glaring clues to the Silver Sword's identity in this chapter. ^_^  
  
Ashika; why is the sky blue? Because it reflects the sea. Why is the ocean blue? Because it reflects the sky. Badum-bum. Seriously, though; I know bits and bobs of German because my grandmother *is* German, and I studied it for six years at school. However, fluent, I am not, so much of what you read here is courtesy of Babelfish.com. Gehín came about from me being made to study more languages than my brain could take and keeping the various dictionaries around the house afterwards. But otherwise, yes, it's made-up. As for the Guild traditions, I didn't really *decide* on them, per se. They just kind of happened. Truth be told, I don't remember thinking them up at all, they were just *there* in my head when I came to type. Likewise the hefty chunk of new traditions you'll find in this new instalment. Enjoy.   
  
Chapter Fourteen owes its title to the tagline of Robin Jarvis' book 'Deathscent'. Read it if you get the chance.   
  
*******************  
  
'Of Beast And Blade' By Scribbler  
  
Chapter Fourteen ~ 'Intrigues of A Reflected Dream'  
  
*******************  
  
'There is no greater sorrow than to recall happiness in times of misery' -- Dante   
  
*******************  
  
"Up. Cut. Thrust. Parry. *Parry*!"  
  
The sword blade flashed once, missing her eye by mere millimetres. Deftly she ducked and rolled, coming to rest inches from her opponent's midriff. She brought her own weapon - a small dagger - up as if to plunge it into his stomach, but was sent sprawling in an instant when he raised his boot and kicked her backwards. Before she even had time to right herself, the tip of his blade was pressed against the soft part of her throat, effectively pinning her to the dusty ground.  
  
"I said parry. So what did you do? You veered off. When I say parry, I say it for a *reason*, kid! Don't ignore my orders, or next time I might not stop my blade before it gets to your windpipe. Now get up."  
  
The blade was removed, and the little girl sat up, wincing slightly as several new bruises made themselves known. She rubbed ruefully at the base of her spine where she'd landed painfully, keeping her eyes dutifully glued to the ground in shame.  
  
"Sorry, Logan."   
  
The burly man towering over her folded his arms. "Sorry don't cut it, kid. I don't say these things for the good of my health. I say 'em because they might save your life one day."  
  
She said nothing. There was nothing *to* say. She'd heard him rap out the order, but had deliberately disobeyed him. She'd thought her own way was best, and was now paying the price for her arrogance. Falling to another in training was all very well, but in the real world...  
  
Logan surveyed his young pupil through harsh eyes. "I thought I told you to get up? Sittin' idle on your little butt ain't gonna help your technique none. Now move it, before I spike you to get y'movin'."  
  
Swiftly, she scrambled to her feet, readying herself in a combat stance the instant she was upright. Her small face was grim, as she waited for her tutor to land the first blow and begin their mock-battle anew.  
  
Yet Logan didn't begin. Instead, he casually threw his sword aside. It landed with a dull thud and flurry of dust motes nearby. The little girl watched him curiously, though her face remained impassive, as she'd been taught to keep it.  
  
"No more weapons today, kid. We'll practise some hand-to-hand, since that was your weakest area last time."  
  
She nodded, throwing her dagger to join his blade on the ground. Shifting her weight slightly, she sank back into a ready crouch; quite different to the stance she'd taken for swordplay. A wisp of snowy hair blew into her eyes as a faint breeze caught at it, making her blink, and in that instant the Wolverinnen struck.  
  
Logan launched himself at his pupil, snarling like a wild beast. The noise was designed to intimidate her into making a mistake, so that his fists could find an opening. However, beyond an initial surprise at his suddenness, she showed no signs of agitation from his tactics. She'd seen them too many times before.  
  
Leaping adroitly aside, she landed delicately and immediately pushed herself off the ground to fly back at him. Her fist swung forward, but he was too quick for that.   
  
Before she even knew what was happening he'd ducked, caught her foot in one hand, and was swinging her tiny body around his head like a rag doll. She whirled in a circle until, finally, he let her go, and she went sailing through the air like a disorientated and groggy arrow.  
  
Hitting the ground was no problem. Instinctively, she went into a roll, thus removing the brunt of impact. Getting up afterwards, however, was more difficult. It wasn't so much she couldn't get her balance, as the world seemed suddenly to have multiplied, and all its clones were swaying about in the most dizzying manner. She stumbled, and vaguely saw three Logans coming towards her, each snarling.  
  
Deciding discretion was the better part of valour for the moment - at least until the world stopped spinning - she hightailed it the other way, coming to a stop when she reached the edge of the training circle. To step outside it was to lose or voluntarily forfeit the fight, and she wasn't ready to relinquish her chances just yet.   
  
Turning, she faced down her tutor as the trio of images gratefully merged into one, deadly man.  
  
Logan knew what she was up to. _Draw me out, make me forget myself, and then force me to step over the line. Old trick, kid. I was there when the first fighters invented it._  
  
So instead of continuing his headlong onslaught, the brawny man altered his path suddenly, and kept doing it; zigzagging this way and that, trying to confuse her.  
  
However, he wasn't the only one perceptive enough to predict his opponent's next move.  
  
_Trying to bamboozle me into making a mistake, eh Logan? Well I ain't falling for it. Not today._  
  
And with that, she barrelled forward, crossing Logan's path as he completed yet another zigzag. She saw her opportunity, punched, and dashed away. Such were the tactics employed in the natural world by the wolf. Strike and then escape before the prey can retaliate, for the Law of The Wild decrees that there is nothing worse nor more pitiful than a hunter who has become the hunted.  
  
Logan stumbled as her small fist connected squarely with his jaw. It wasn't enough to knock him off his feet, but it was enough to make him curse loudly for allowing her the opportunity to strike. He'd have to be better prepared next time, or she'd get too overconfident. No *way* was she ready to face the real world yet. Her current overconfidence would most likely get her killed within an hour. Her skills needed honing, and the only way he could think of to do it was by forcefully driving humility into her. Arrogance and superciliousness were things to be quelled *now*, before they got out of hand.  
  
He growled, rounding back on himself and speeding along in the little girl's wake. She kept her back to him and failed to keep an eye on her opponent as he'd taught her.   
  
_Stupid!_  
  
With inhuman speed, Logan tore across the training circle, crouching low and leaping high into the air to strike from above. At the last second she turned, throwing herself aside to roll away in the dust. But Logan had taught her that move, and he compensated skilfully by jerking his body in mid-air, throwing out his arms and catching her legs as she stood up. She stumbled, cursed, and fell on her nose in the dirt.  
  
The difference in size between the two fighters was immense. The girl was a mere child, whilst Logan carried the bulk of a heavily built Wolverinnen. Even amongst his own kind he was considered massive, if not in height then in stature, and his weight effectively pinned her tiny body to the ground, disallowing her to stand up. She grunted helplessly, but it was no use. She was trapped.  
  
But she was also stubborn.  
  
His pupil twisted so that her spine screamed, and landed another punch squarely on Logan's nose. He blinked, not expecting that, and she threw another, this time catching him in the eye. He roared, momentarily blinded.   
  
That was all she needed.   
  
Her foot jerked up, connecting with his chin and snapping his head back. In the ensuing confusion she wriggled free of his embrace, scrambling to her feet and stepping back to kick him in his jaw, hoping to knock him out and effectively end the match.  
  
Logan clutched at his face, and a thin trickle of blood leaked through his hairy fingers. The girl saw this, but blanked it out as he'd schooled her to do. To take pity on an enemy is to commit suicide, and that is not the way of an assassin. She went to kick him, but as her leg swung forward he suddenly wasn't there any more.   
  
Swift as the wind, Logan jumped into a crouch and launched at her whilst all her weight was on the one leg. She brought her arms up to cover her head, once again throwing herself aside to avoid the blow he intended.   
  
This time, Logan was ready.   
  
With a metallic 'snikt', lengths of deadly metal erupted from the backs of his hands. He stretched out; his reach elongated by them, and sliced at her shoulder to keep her from escaping. Surprise briefly flashed across her small face, before he crashed into her, head on.  
  
As one they tumbled over and over, a mass of flailing bodies and gleaming metal, until finally coming to rest with a thump, scant inches away from the circle's edge. The child gasped against Logan's claws, indenting her throat just as his sword had done so well only minutes ago. Her tutor leaned close. Close enough that she could see the stubble spiking through his chin. Close enough to smell the meat he'd eaten for his last meal. Close enough that she couldn't avoid that stoic, unblinking gaze.  
  
"Game over," he growled. "I win."  
  
"You never said you were gonna use your claws!" she protested hoarsely, windpipe obstructed some by said claws.  
  
"I never said I wasn't," he retorted. The shafts of metal slid back into place between his knuckles and he rolled off her to stand, allowing her to breathe and sit up.  
  
"But that ain't fair!" she continued petulantly.  
  
"Life ain't fair, kid. Deal with it."  
  
She rubbed at her shoulder, finding the sleeve of her jerkin torn, but the flesh miraculously unharmed, and muttered rebelliously beneath her breath, "T'aint fair. Said it was hand-to-hand, not hand-to-claw. Didn't have a chance."   
  
The Wolverinnen's sharp ears picked up on her huffy murmurings, and he leaned down again. "Listen, Marie. In the real world outside the Guild, enemies ain't gonna warn you when they use weapons, and some of 'em are much worse than my claws. With an attitude like *that* you're gonna get yourself killed in five seconds on your first mission. I didn't train you to be so arrogant, so quit acting like some spoiled merchant-brat."  
  
"But Logan, I - "  
  
"I said quit it!" He snorted, folding his arms. "I hate to say it, but I was ashamed of you today, Marie. Your stance was sloppy, you didn't check for ambushes, and you relied too heavily on dodgin'. It ain't good enough, y'hear? You're gettin' too full of yourself, and it shows. Badly."  
  
She stared up at him, young face aghast at his open criticism. Logan was harsh, but fair, and rarely ever reverted to verbal cruelty to teach her a lesson. Her lip trembled slightly, and he rolled his eyes.  
  
"Oh, give me a break. Tears? From you? Listen up, Marie. You ain't any old kid on the street. You're a trainee assassin, and *my* pupil to boot. You got standards to live up to. Assassins don't wimp out at a little criticism, and they certainly don't *blub* about it!" He sighed, shaking his head. "You got real talent, Marie, and the potential to go far in the Guild. But it ain't gonna happen if you don't stop closin' up your ears and start listenin' to me when I'm trying to teach you stuff. I know for a fact that you could beat any other pupil in the entire Guild, but it ain't good enough. Until y'got the right attitude, you might as well be some penny-per-dozen rent-a-blade. A *mercenary*!" He sneered the word like it was an insult - which, indeed it was to any self-respecting assassin. The Guild of Assassins was an ancient culture that went back thousands of years, and formed an integral part of Earth-Realm and its people. Mercenaries were nomads of dubious origin; blemishes that stained the good name 'assassin' since they lacked the code of honour lived by every warrior trained in The Guild.  
  
This final remark was too much for her. To be criticised by Logan - whom she only ever wanted to impress and make proud - was bad enough. But she was tough. She could take that and still keep going.   
  
Yet to be openly smote and called a *mercenary* was more than she could stand. Shame blossomed inside her mind. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling, lurched to her feet, and ran.  
  
Logan called out as she pushed past him, but she didn't stop. Not even for him. Not this time.  
  
"Hey, kid! Stop! You get your butt back here this *instant*!"  
  
Yet she didn't. For the first time in her didactic career, Marie threw caution to the winds and ignored Logan's summons. She streaked from the training circle; out of the clearing they used to practice in, and away into the surrounding forest as fast as her small feet could carry her.   
  
Gradually, Logan's voice faded away, as she careened full pelt, neither seeing nor caring where she was headed.  
  
_A mercenary. He called me a *mercenary*!_ she thought miserably. _I tried so hard for him, and he calls me *that*! All I ever wanted to do was please him. I tried, I really did. T'aint mah fault. But a *mercenary*? Does he really think so little of me?_  
  
She kept running, 'mercenary' whirling around the inside of her skull like some deranged mantra; a twittering ghost she could neither rid herself of nor forget, no matter how hard she tried.  
  
A familiar building hove into view over a grassy knoll, and finally she stopped beside it. Leaning against one massively curved wall, Marie panted from her exertions. Only when she'd regained her breath enough to stand did she take stock of her location, regarding the place where she'd ended up.  
  
It was a huge empty construction, amphitheatre-like in design, with outer walls covered in gruesome mosaics of past battles and epics taken from Guild Lore and myth.   
  
The Combat Arena.   
  
Marie smirked. No wonder it was deserted. The Arena was never used save for official matches and ceremonies, like title-giving or the presentation of swords to assassins newly graduated from their mentors' custody.  
  
A stray thought crossed her mind. _I'll be old enough for the ceremony in a few years. Old enough to finally get my own personal sword and a title. That is, if Logan thinks I'm good enough to go beyond *mercenary* status. The council would probably call me Marie the Mercenary, and I'd be laughed out of the Guild before I could even lift my new blade._  
  
She didn't have a blade of her own. Not yet. Nobody had one until they came of age and went through the title-giving ceremony, whereupon a specially forged one was presented along with a suffix to their name. At the moment she used those in the communal armoury for training purposes, and once or twice Logan had allowed her to hold hid blade, just to get a feel of it. It had zinged in her hand like molten power, and the feel of it was something she'd never forget.  
  
Anger mixed with shame flared inside her, as she remembered the look on Logan's face as he called her... she couldn't even bring herself to say it again. He'd been disgusted, and so deadly, deadly serious. Ashamed of his own pupil's arrogance and sloppiness. Ashamed of her....  
  
_I probably won't get to see inside here now. I ain't good enough, according to Logan. Well, if he ain't gonna recommend me to get a sword when I come of age, then I'm getting a peep at the inside of The Arena now, while I still can. Gods know I won't be allowed in later if I'm no better than... than street trash!~  
  
Marie's dark eyebrow's knitted together, and she purposefully followed the length of the wall, searching for some kind of entrance. One manifested itself in the shape of a narrow side door, which creaked stiffly open when she rammed it with her shoulder. A shadowy corridor was revealed beyond, and she took a quick, perfunctory look around before entering and closing the door behind her.  
  
The arena itself lay at the end of the corridor, and Marie gasped as she laid eyes upon it. The great open space all but completely took her breath away, and her footsteps echoed loudly across the ascending rows of empty wooden benches and wrought iron railings fencing the audience off from the combatants and their weapons. Splatters of old brown blood could still be seen in cracks here and there, but otherwise it was immaculately kept. The walls were white, and the vaulted roof painted to resemble the night sky. If one hadn't known it was the work of an artist, it was quite possible to mistake the ceiling for the real thing.  
  
Marie gaped, open-mouthed at the splendour of it all. In the very centre was a large rectangular podium, no doubt used for the council to sit on during ceremonies. She could just imagine them all - a score of old men, wizened with age but oozing wisdom as they perched, stroking their long white beards sagely and dispensing awards and titles left, right and centre to deserving assassins.  
  
_But I'll never get to see them. 'Cause I'm not deserving enough,_ she thought bitterly.  
  
Enveloped in self-pity, Marie drew closer to the dais, running her hands along the dark wood and smelling the faint aroma of incense, which always followed the councillors wherever they went. Their chambers stank of it, but here it was subtler, a vaguely pungent memory of their last visit. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the muted sweetness of it. She could almost taste it...  
  
Tears stung the backs of her eyes; ashamed tears, which she hastily blinked away. She was eager to protect her reputation, despite there being nobody around to bear witness to her fleeting weakness.   
  
It was true what Logan had said. She had been arrogant, thinking her way was best and ignoring his lessons in favour of her own techniques. Techniques that were obviously flawed, it seemed, if he was able to defeat her so easily.   
  
_If that had been a fight in the real world, I'd be dead now,_ she mused ruefully.  
  
A loud creaking suddenly rent the air. Marie spun round, the smell of incense and her own self-pity instantly forgotten. Someone was coming. If she was caught snooping around the Combat Arena she'd have more than Logan's cruel tongue to worry about. They might even throw her out of The Guild altogether for such blatant audacity. The Arena was strictly off-limits to all those not yet in possession of a title and their own sword, and ancient tradition dictated that all trainees be kept away until their coming-of-age ceremony when they were eleven winters old.   
  
She shuddered at the thought of becoming outcast. Even among the trainees there were stories and rumours about what happened to rogues, all of them terrible.  
  
Panicked, Marie cast about for an escape route, but there were none save for the locked main entrance, and the corridor she'd forced her way in through. Footsteps from there told her that route was out of the question too.   
  
She was cornered.  
  
Having little other option, Marie did the only thing she could think of. She hid.  
  
One of the audience benches served as an adequate hiding place, and she secreted herself beneath it in an effort to remain undetected. From there she couldn't see a thing, and hoped that the same was true for anybody looking for her. Visions of enraged elders dragging her out by her ear filled her psyche, and she tried vainly to still her breathing and thumping heartbeat, too. She closed her eyes, attempting some semblance of serenity, as she'd been taught to do when in a tight spot with enemies closing in.  
  
_Be still. Be calm. Be unseen._  
  
The footsteps grew louder, echoing as the invading person walked across the arena. They were quick; indicating that the person they belonged to was either short or in a hurry. This didn't provide much solace, however, since over half the councillors were smaller than herself.  
  
All of a sudden they halted. Marie shrank further under the bench, willing whoever it was not to see her and just go away. She waited uncertainly, though her face had automatically become a mask of indifference, just as Logan had drilled it to do.  
  
A voice, fluty and light, floated through the air and slithered into her ear unbidden. It was male, but most definitely not that of a councillor or other such person. It was too soft for that, too high-pitched and childlike. And horribly familiar.  
  
  
  
"Marie?"  
  
Marie screwed up her face. The voice came again.  
  
"Marie, I know you're here. I saw you come in."  
  
Still she didn't answer. She had a good idea who it was, and possessed no desire for him to see her like this; so nauseatingly emotional and weak. Not him. Not now.  
  
The owner of the voice paused, as if considering what to say next. Then he spoke again, but there was an uncertain edge to his tone, as if he didn't quite believe what he was saying.  
  
"Are you crying?"  
  
Marie's green eyes snapped open. How could he have known? She hadn't been all weepy outside when he'd seen her, so how could he have guessed what she'd been doing? Intuition? Or had he been there in that corridor the whole time, watching her? Seeing her make a sentimental fool out of herself.  
  
"Marie? *Are* you crying?"  
  
"No," she replied sullenly, revealing her presence. "I'm not."  
  
"You sound like it. All stuffed up. Or have you got a cold?" The footsteps started up again, and Marie knew it was because he was following the sound of her voice. Hence the inane chatter to get her to provide an oral beacon. Perhaps she should just clam up and let him search for her by himself. Why give him any help when she didn't want to be found at all?  
  
However, it was too late for that. Boots tapped their way up the stone steps, and traversed the length of the aisle to stop right in front of her. Marie waited tensely, staring at two black boots, which stared back at her stonily.  
  
A small, elfin-faced boy, with snowy white hair and startling blue eyes popped his head round the rim of the bench. He grinned at her with a playful 'I found you' expression, revealing a winning smile that would surely make women fall at his feet when he was older.  
  
Pietro.   
  
She'd known him as long as she could remember. He was her oldest, and - on some days - only friend. Today was one such day.  
  
"Hi," he said, to which she only grunted. "Mind if I cop a squat?"  
  
"It's a free bench," she retorted moodily.  
  
"Care to join me?"  
  
Marie groaned, knowing that, if she didn't agree, he'd just pester her until she did. It was easier to assuage Pietro then endure him in full auto-whine, which could last for hours on end without a break if he chose.   
  
Sighing, she hauled herself out from her hiding place and balanced on the edge of the wooden seat. Pietro plopped down beside her, and she avoided his eyes.  
  
Silence stretched between them for a moment, and Marie self-consciously wiped under her eyes to make sure no tears were showing. She was tough. She didn't cry. *Especially* when someone could see her.  
  
At length, Pietro broke the silence. He cleared his throat, as if wondering how to broach a conversation with a girl who so obviously would prefer it if he just left her alone. Yet years of spending time with Marie had taught him a few things about her nature, and he was reluctant to just leave her in such a state, since she would no doubt just stew about whatever was bothering her and blow it out of all proportion.  
  
"Rough day training?"   
  
She didn't answer. He glanced across, taking in her dishevelled appearance.   
  
"Those are some nasty bruises you got there."  
  
Idly she fingered the purplish lump manifesting on her cheek. "Had an argument with a tree trunk."  
  
"I take it that it got angry and beat you up?"  
  
"Something like that."  
  
More uncomfortable silence.  
  
"How come you're not training with your mentor, Pietro?"  
  
"Emilios is still sleeping. Drunk himself stupid at the feast last night. I couldn't shift him this morning, and we missed our appointment. What about you? Why aren't you out with Logan?"  
  
"I was," she said curtly.  
  
A pause. "Aren't you going to give me any more information than that? Come on, inquiring minds want to know."  
  
Marie sighed again. He was such an inquisitive pain in the butt. _Why can't he just leave mah problems alone? I don't ask much. Just a little private time to mahself._  
  
"Marie? You okay? If you're supposed to be with Logan, what are you doing here?"  
  
"Because Logan doesn't think I'm good enough for him to bother training," she bit out, the bitterness in her voice almost palpable. "He's ashamed to have me as his pupil."  
  
Pietro quirked an eyebrow. "He said that?"  
  
"Uh-huh. He said I was no better than a mercenary. A *mercenary*, Pietro. He might as well have said I was horse dung he scraped off his boot."  
  
"I find that pretty hard to believe. Logan's real proud of you. Emilios is always complaining about how he brags about you, that you're better than I am, and why can't I be more like Logan's pupil? You'd have to be good to make Emilios jealous."  
  
Marie looked up, meeting his gaze. "Emilios is jealous of *me*."  
  
"Sure he is. And with good reason, too. Listen, Marie. Logan's always saying stuff he doesn't mean. I remember when we first got our mentors and he called you a little Pebehock. You refused to come out of your chamber for three hours after that. Remember?"  
  
She smirked wryly. "How could I forget? And y'all stood outside banging on the door until Emilios came and dragged you away."  
  
"Yeah." He smiled, and his face seemed to light up. "But the point is, he didn't mean it. He never means it. It's just his way. Logan talks better with his claws than he does with words."  
  
"I know," she replied, rubbing the sliced fabric of her jerkin-shoulder. "Boy, do I know." Then she let out another lungful of breath. It whistled over her lips, communicating her slightly-abated bitterness.  
  
Pietro noted it, and scooched around to face her properly. "That's not what's really bothering you is it?"  
  
"Yeah, it is," she shot back.  
  
He shook his head. "Don't insult me, Marie. I've known you long enough to tell what you're not telling me something. Now spill. What's the matter?"  
  
_Intuitive Kaju._  
  
"Marie."  
  
Marie stuck out her bottom lip, and muttered insubordinately, "I just can't seem to get anything *right*. Well, I mean, I can get it right, but not right *enough* for Logan. All I wanna do is make him proud of me, but every time we have a training session, he goes on about some tiny detail or fault I hadn't even noticed. It's like, I can win twelve battles in a row, and he'll get at me because mah feet were positioned wrong at the start of one of them. I just can't live up to his standards! It's too hard."  
  
"But isn't that what the training is supposed to do? Teach you *how* to reach his standards?" Pietro reasoned softly. "You're not supposed to be perfect straight away, Marie. That's why we have mentors. To teach us and tell us where we go wrong so that we can be the best we possibly can."  
  
"But I try so hard, and he doesn't even seem to notice."  
  
The white-haired boy sighed. "From what Emilios told me, that's because you're so much more talented than most pupils. Logan knows you have the potential to reach levels far beyond those most assassins can, and he's just trying to help you get there the only way he knows how."  
  
"A little positive criticism wouldn't go amiss now and then."   
  
"I'm sure it wouldn't, but you have to remember, Marie; Logan's a Wolverinnen. They just don't *do* nice. If Logan was pleasant, I'd be the first to check his forehead for fever."  
  
That elicited a small laugh, and he smiled again. Marie looked so different when she wasn't scowling. _I wish she'd do it more often._   
  
"If it's any help, Emilios has been getting on at me again, too," he confided, looking down at his scuffed boots.  
  
Marie's eyes widened. "Again? But we did so much training this Spring. Y'improved so much. How can he still think you're no good?"  
  
Pietro shrugged. "You know Emilios. Unless I'm beating you, he isn't interested in any progress I've made. Sometimes I think he'll be dissatisfied with me until I put you six feet under. This rivalry with Logan can be a real drag."  
  
Marie nodded, subconsciously contemplating what a rough deal Pietro got. He was by no means a weakling fighter, but Emilios worked him hard, and never ever acknowledged the effort his pupil put into training. All Emilios ever seemed to think about was being better than Logan, and Pietro was usually the one to bear the brunt of this near-obsession. Many times as a child, the slender boy had come to Marie's chambers to hide when Emilios had some pent-up aggression that needed releasing.   
  
Sometimes he didn't get away fast enough, and it was up to her to clean up what damage his mentor had done afterwards. Pietro still bore some scars from past beatings, or 'toughening up sessions', as Emilios preferred to call them. There was nothing anyone could do about it, since a pupil basically belonged to their mentor until they were given their own title and sword, and became their own person.   
  
Yet something deep down inside Marie knew that Emilios was wrong. Pietro worked so hard - probably harder than she did herself - but only got thrashings in return for his labours. It didn't seem fair somehow, but nobody said anything.  
  
These thoughts helped to put her own situation into perspective. She mused on Logan's behaviour, as well as her own performance today. Maybe he was right to go on at her so. She'd certainly done nothing worth praise in their battle, and all he'd done was inform her where she was going wrong. Expect the unexpected. Just like always. Emilios never did that with Pietro. His policy was 'beat first, teach later'.   
  
Pietro shifted his weight, bringing her back into reality. "Yesterday he was telling me how you're faster than I am; how he'd seen you fight, and your reaction time was quicker. I can't help how fast I see things. Sometimes, I just can't dodge quickly enough, or bring my blade up in time. But he doesn't listen when I tell him I physically can't *go* any faster. He never does. And when I try to tell him he... well, you know..."  
  
Marie glanced up, and caught her friend absently rubbing the back of his hand. It was swathed in bandages, thick with dirt and grime, and he scratched at the skin around it. Her mouth became a hard line. _That was where Emilios burned him with hot metal last week._ she recalled, and anger flared in her gut. _That Pebehock._  
  
She reached out and touched his arm. He jerked up, startled out of his own ruminations by her contact, and then gave a lop-sided grin at her comforting action. "You know, we could get into a lot of trouble being in here," he informed her.  
  
She nodded. "I know. I just... wanted to have a look around. In case I didn't make it to the title ceremony."  
  
He frowned at her words. "Hey, Marie, don't talk like that. You're the best trainee there is. If anyone makes it to the ceremony, you will. Logan'll probably force the council to call you Marie the Wonderful, or something."  
  
She giggled, a strange sound to anyone who had never heard it before. her voice was deep for her age, and the noise burbling in the base of her throat sounded not a little like a hacking cough. "Yeah, right. Marie the Whiner, more like. What about you? I think Pietro the Persistent sounds apt."  
  
He laughed. "Seriously though, Marie. I *know* how good you are. You deserve to get a great title, and you will. I guarantee it."  
  
"Aw, come on sycophant. I'd best get back and face the music before I get you in real trouble for following me."  
  
Together they rose, and began their descent to the darkened corridor and exit beyond. At the creaky wooden door, Marie paused for a second, casting a last look back at the Combat Arena. Pietro stopped a few feet up ahead.  
  
"Marie?"  
  
"I'm coming, don't worry." Her eyes took in the dais, the benches and the gruesome mosaics. Drinking it in - just in case. She blew her white bangs out of her face and surveyed the plain, but oh-so-beautiful place. "Pietro."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Thanks. For coming in after me, I mean. I appreciate it."  
  
He smiled in the gloom, blue eyes dancing. "S'alright. I know you would've done the same for me. Now come on, before we both get in trouble so deep we'll have to swim to get out of it."  
  
*******************  
  
Running. Keep running. Dodge left, then right. Drop into a roll, and then leap. Undercut. Yes! Got him!  
  
"To your left, Pietro! Left, boy!"  
  
"Hey, no conferrin'."  
  
"Ah, shut up, Logan!"  
  
Marie smiled, listening to the two men arguing from the sidelines. She didn't let it distract her too much, though; lest she wanted to lose the battle. Even though her opponent was someone she didn't particularly want to beat, she'd been trained to win, and win she would, damn it!  
  
Pietro came at her again, sword blade flashing in the wan early morning sun. Deftly she parried the blow, dropping into a crouch and swinging her leg round to knock his feet from under him. He went down like a sack of rocks, hitting the ground hard. Instantly she was up, ready to press the tip of her sword to his throat, but already he'd rolled aside and was jumping to his feet.  
  
"Clever move."   
  
"Likewise," she replied.  
  
It wasn't usual for them to face each other in such a manner, but a drunken bet between their mentors at the inn the previous evening had ensured that, come daybreak, both teenagers engaged in their first battle against each other. It wasn't a fight to the finish, as Emilios had wanted, but they had compensated him by holding it at his and Pietro's training ground on the cliff top.   
  
Early morning winds battered the pair, throwing sea salt from the ocean far below them into their faces and stinging their eyes. Pietro was used to such harsh conditions, but Marie wasn't, and had to keep reminding herself where the edge of the chalk circle was, so that she didn't blindly step over it and unknowingly forfeit the match.  
  
Now both fifteen winters old, they were mere weeks away from their title ceremonies, and honing their stalking and fighting skills every waking moment. This battle had been a long time in coming for their mentors, and they stood willing their pupils on gamely, every now and then wiping the harsh spray from their grizzled faces. It was quite humorous to see them together, actually, since even the short Logan towered over the squat, rather hairy little man by his side.   
  
Yet the anger emanating from Emilios quickly quashed any ideas anyone may have had concerning laughter. His face was a mask of hatred, and he intermittently called out instructions to his pupil, despite the 'no instructing' rule that Logan had insisted upon.  
  
Pietro dived forward, feinted left, and struck a blow home with his sword. Marie ducked, allowing the force of his swing to carry the blade over her head, before leaping up and driving her sword handle into his gut. His cerulean eyes bulged as the air was knocked from his lungs, and he doubled over, trying to catch his breath. That was all the chance Marie needed. She drove forward, full pelt, Emilios' choler-filled voice ringing in her ears.  
  
"You stupid Kaju! Get up! Get up or you'll feel the back of my hand afterwards!"  
  
"I said shut up, Emilios. Let the kids fight on their own!"  
  
"Oh, that's just typical of you, Logan. Only because your brat's winning. Get up you lazy Pebehock, or I'll make you curse the day you were brought screaming into this world!"  
  
Marie raised her sword, intending to rap Pietro on the back of the head with the handle while he was still bent over. If she could knock him out, the match would be over, and she wouldn't have to listen to Emilios' yelling any more. She regretted what she had to do, but knew that all of them would know if she lost on purpose, and Pietro would probably get a worse beating for being a 'charity case'.  
  
She sped forward, arms outstretched, ready to perform the deed. Her eyes flashed involuntarily with the thrill of impending victory, and a small shout escaped her lips.   
  
However, at the last moment, just as she was about to lay him cold, Pietro straightened up, catching Marie's waist and using her momentum to throw her over his shoulder. Emilios gave a triumphant yell as she went flying through the air, out of the circle, and bounced across the slippery ground.   
  
Pietro turned, glee shining in his face; but the expression vanished when he saw Marie slither and slide out of control... straight over the edge of the cliff.  
  
"Marie!" he screamed, darting forward, the victory forgotten.  
  
"Kid!" Logan yelled, also making to run, but finding himself snagged by Emilios' arm.  
  
"Don't interfere, Logan. Your own rule, remember?" The weedy man wagged a finger at his long-time rival, a spiteful smile gracing his rat-like features.  
  
Logan growled savagely, showing his teeth; a sight that would have made any lesser man's blood run cold with fear. "Get off me, Emilios! The match is over. Pietro won."  
  
"It ain't over until it's over," was the cryptic reply, followed by a feral grin patently filled with malice. "*Completely* over."  
  
Logan's eyes widened. "You *Pebehock*!"   
  
Emilios only smiled.  
  
"Marie!" Pietro screamed, skidding over to where she'd fallen, and trying to retain his footing so as not to follow her. "*Marie*!"  
  
Unaware of the conflict going on between their mentors, he sank to his belly and peered over the jagged edge of the cliff. Spray lashed his eyes, and he blinked profusely, hardly able to see. Where was she? He couldn't see his friend anywhere.  
  
_Oh gods, what if she...?_ Desperate, he scanned the virtually sheer drop for any sign of Marie. But there was none.  
  
"*Mariiiiie*!" His voice was saturated with panic at what he'd done.   
  
Still nothing. No scrap of evidence the female trainee had been there at all. No torn clothing. No discarded sword. Nothing. She was gone.  
  
_No._ all the blood drained from his face. _No, no, no, no, *no*! She can't be gone. She can't! I... I... I didn't mean to throw her over the edge. If I'd known it was so slippery... I mean... Marie, you can't be dead. Our ceremonies are in a few weeks. You gotta be there. You gotta... you gotta..._  
  
Whether the result of salt water or emotion, Pietro couldn't help the backs of his pale blue eyes stinging. And if any tears ran down his sharply featured face, then they were lost in the water splashed up at him by the crashing waves battering the cliff base below. Staring down, he saw serrated rocks erupting from the foam and flotsam. Like stone teeth raking through the water, anything that fell on them would be dashed to pieces and carried out to sea in an instant.  
  
Or anyone.  
  
Pietro felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, and nausea bubbled up the inside of his maw. He'd just killed his best friend. The girl he'd known virtually since birth. Sent to her death and a watery grave by the one she'd shared food with when Emilios was extra hungry. The one who'd comforted her when she was down, who'd sought her help to improve his fighting skills. He'd murdered his only friend.  
  
"Pietro!"  
  
What was that?   
  
Pietro's head jerked up, unsure whether he'd heard or imagined the thin, reedy call, half-deadened by the wind and waves.  
  
"Pietro! Down here!"  
  
There it was again. Urgently, he leaned out as far as he dared, straining his sight to its utmost limit.  
  
There! Right there. Clinging onto a scrap of rock that shielded most of her body from view, Marie hung by her fingertips not three feet beneath him. Her sword was gone; lost in the hungry sea, and her feet pedalled fruitlessly against the empty air. Her grip was tenuous to say the least, and it was obvious from her blanched knuckles that she couldn't hang on much longer.  
  
"Pietro! Help me!" she called, gazing up at him with frantic green eyes. "Please!"  
  
"Hold on, Marie. Just hold on!" he yelled back. Gripping the rim as best he could with one hand, and bracing his back legs, he reached down towards her, hand outstretched.   
  
Her expression was fearful as she realised that, to take this proffered aid, she would be forced to relinquish her own hold on the outcrop; thus leaving herself open to that perilous descent should his grasp fail.  
  
Pietro saw her dilemma, and his jaw set. He was the one who'd gotten her into this mess. And even if it killed him, he'd be the one to get her out of it. He wasn't going to fail her again!  
  
"Take my hand!"  
  
"I'll fall!"  
  
"No, you won't! I won't let you!" he shouted. Still she was hesitant. "Trust me. It's the only way."  
  
Marie gazed up at him, realising with a strangely detached part of her brain that he was telling the truth. This was the only way. Her grip was failing. Only another couple of seconds and she'd die anyway. Grab the chance of salvation whilst you can, her almost-conscience told her. You won't get another opportunity.  
  
Shifting her hold, Marie tensed her muscles and placed the flats of her feet against the stone; the outcrop crumbling slightly as she did so.   
  
Pietro saw what was happening with horror, and shouted over the booming waves, "Come on, Marie! Hurry!"  
  
With a burst of desperate strength, the girl pushed off from the outcrop, lunging for Pietro's hand. She caught his wrist, swinging precariously and slamming the rest of her body into the cliff-face. He closed rapidly numbing fingers around her arm, yanking her upwards with strength he didn't possess.  
  
Marie reached up with her other hand and latched it onto her friend's limb. He dragged at her, but realised in dismay that he simply couldn't get her back up top. She was too heavy for him to lift that far in her armour. Hopelessly he tried, but it was clear to both of them that he couldn't do it. He just wasn't strong enough.  
  
Marie began to slip from his grasp, wet clothing providing little resistance. _No!_ he thought angrily. _No! Not again!_   
  
But there was nothing he could do. He was helpless, and watched as she turned unbearably resigned eyes upon him. She knew, as he did, that there was no saving her now. She was going to die. It was something all assassins learned as children - death was inevitable. It visited everyone, arrival just being a question of when.  
  
Her wrist slipped, and he grabbed at her hand, then her fingers. With all the power he could muster in his slender frame, he held on, yet he could feel her slipping; sliding through his hands like soft, dry sand.  
  
Suddenly a large, bulky form appeared beside him, throwing itself down and reaching to clutch Marie in a grip as unbreakable as iron. Pietro looked up in surprise, his desperation and agony having made him forget there was anyone else there.  
  
"Hang on, kid!" Logan gritted, though whether to Marie or Pietro was a mystery. "I gotcha."  
  
With muscles that dwarfed those of normal men, the Wolverinnen exerted his massive strength and hauled his pupil up and over the cliff-edge. The force of the movement sent her, Pietro and himself flying backwards, to land in an ungainly heap several feet away.  
  
Pietro was up like a shot. "Marie!" he gabbled. "Marie, are you all right?"  
  
The female trainee lay on her back, unmoving; but her voice, croaky with shouting, filtered over to him. "Yeah. I'm okay."  
  
"Marie, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to send you off the cliff. If I'd known that was going to happen I would've just forfeited and damn the consequences. If it hadn't been for Mister Logan... thank you Mister Logan. Thank you so much. I don't know what would have happened if Marie had... if I'd..."  
  
Logan held up one hand to silence the gabbling youth in an uncharacteristically genial motion. "S'alright, Hummingbird," he panted. "No harm done in the end. I couldn't 'zactly let her go so easy, now, could I? Despite what old Blood n' Guts over there wanted." He nodded towards Emilios' unconscious form. A sizable lump was beginning to swell on the scrawny man's temple where Logan had cracked him with the flat of one claw.  
  
Pietro turned back to his fallen comrade. "Are you okay? Really? Can you move? Is there any pain anywhere? Tell me, Marie? Where does it hurt? Do you have any broken bones? You hit the rock-face pretty damn hard. Is there anything I can do to - "  
  
"Leave off, Pietro. You're acting like a mother hen. Of course I'm okay. A little scrape like that's nothing to worry about." Marie heaved herself into a sitting position.  
  
Pietro's jaw hung slack. "But you almost *died*," he pointed out incredulously, tone clearly saying, 'doesn't that bother you'?  
  
"And as soon as the title ceremony's over and I get mah first mission, I may well almost die again. Heck, I may *actually* die."  
  
He frowned. "Don't say stuff like that. I don't want to even *think* about it, Marie. I don't know what I'd do if you... if you..."  
  
"Bit the big one?"   
  
"Yeah," he replied sullenly.  
  
Marie, though still shaken, decided against revealing it to her friend, and instead casually ruffled his snowy hair in a comforting gesture of affection. The already mussed peaks and troughs became a veritable melee of battling tresses, and he batted her hand away with a perfunctory, "Hey!"  
  
"But I didn't this time. And despite what you think, it ain't your fault, Pietro."  
  
"Yeah. If it's anybody's fault then you can blame sleepin' beauty over there," Logan interjected. "Emilios probably figured something like this would happen. That's why he suggested holdin' the fight here on the cliff-top, even in such bad conditions."  
  
"But I - " Pietro tried again, but Marie pressed a hand over his mouth.  
  
"No more, y'hear? I don't wanna hear you blaming yourself and putting creases in your face with frowns. Buck up, Pietro. You ain't responsible for the inner workings of your mentor's sick little mind."  
  
"You shouldn't talk about him that way," Pietro protested half-heartedly, averting his gaze as the degree of loyalty remaining in his breast to the man who'd raised and trained him raised into view. "He *is* my mentor after all."  
  
Marie looked at Logan over her friend's head. Logan looked back at her, rolling his eyes.   
  
Marie smiled wanly, and reached out to take Pietro's gauntlet in her own. His head jerked up, baffled at the tactile motion. Marie stared at him, and said with complete and utter sincerity, "Pietro, I owe you mah life. You could've died just now trying to save me when I was already lost. Thank you." She shifted, a little uncomfortable saying such things with Logan nearby. "You're... a friend anyone would kill to have."  
  
His pale cheeks coloured slightly, and beyond him, Logan rolled his eyes again. Yet this time he was grinning.  
  
_Ah, sweet,_ The Wolverinnen thought wryly to himself. _I'm getting' cavities over here._  
  
*******************  
  
Marie hid in the shadows, silent as the night-breeze and twice as swift. Her green eyes darted to and fro, gauging the landscape for any signs of others. Silence consumed all around her; a deathly quiet usually reserved for graveyards and the like.   
  
To anyone else, it would have elicited a spin-tingling shudder, but for Marie it was almost homely. The near-pitch darkness was comforting to her, and though tense with expectation, she was much more relaxed than she would have been had she been abroad in daylight.  
  
Then again, if it were daylight, he wouldn't be hiding. He'd be sitting in his quarters, or training for a fresh mission. There was another one coming up soon, so she heard; an important one, which was rumoured to concern the sanctity of the entire Guild itself.   
  
Personally, she was quite surprised it hadn't been given to Logan already - he was by far the best assassin they had. However, the Council's choice was theirs, and theirs alone. And besides, she had bigger things to speculate on right now.  
  
Determining there was nobody else around to disturb or hear her, Marie gathered her distinctly unfeminine muscles and dropped, cat-like from the branches of the tree she was balanced in. Her didn't make a sound as she touched down, and with barely a whisper, she wended her way speedily towards the huge, circular building highlighted against the cloudy sky by beams of pale moonlight.  
  
Reaching a small wooden door embedded in the wall, it was but the work of a moment for her to ram into it, hoping to open it as she'd done once before. To her surprise it flew open with a large crash, sending bits of loam and plaster raining down on her. Coughing slightly into a fist, she peered into the dusty passage beyond.  
  
_Somebody's already here,_ she realised. _And if I'm right, then I'll bet I know who that somebody is._  
  
Creeping forward, the assassin pressed her body against the wall. Several successful missions had taught her never to assume anything, and she was less than willing to put herself in danger of being caught should the person inside the Combat Arena prove to be someone other than who she was looking for.  
  
_But I'm sure it must be. Where else would he go to be sure of a little privacy? Nowhere's sacred any more - not with those two scouts from The Silver Sword staying here. They get more free reign than *we* do, and they're only visitors._ Her thoughts took a peevish turn, and she dispelled them rapidly, concentrating instead on the way ahead.  
  
At last she came to the end of the corridor, and, peering surreptitiously around the corner, looked into the open space that lay within.   
  
Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the light. Several torches burned brightly on the walls, keeping the Arena permanently lit, since there were no windows to speak of in the place. Tradition told of it being bad luck for any of the torches to go out, and it was a special privilege to be put on torch-duty.   
  
Marie blinked in the semi-gloom, squinting for the one she sought. There appeared to be nobody about, and for the first time since she'd been to his chamber and found him curiously absent, she wondered whether she was on the correct track after all.  
  
_Maybe he ain't missing at all. Maybe he just went to visit... no, wait - _ Her eyes narrowed. _There he is._  
  
Triumphantly she spotted what she sought - a lone figure, sitting dolefully on one of the benches bordering the Arena, and only separated from it by delicately wrought black iron. His face was in his hands, and he obviously wasn't looking out for people who might catch and punish him for being in here without permission.  
  
Inadvertently, she was struck by a memory. The last time they'd been here the roles had been reversed. It had been he who found her, and now here she was seeking him to do exactly the same. It was funny, in an ironic kind of way.  
  
_Big deal,_ she told her almost-conscience irritably. _That was six years ago. This is now. both of us have changed since then._  
  
Have You? it enquired. Have you really?   
  
Ignoring it, Marie quickly padded across the Arena, past the Council's dais, and over to the boy. He didn't even acknowledge her approach, and jumped when her footsteps echoed loudly on the wooden stairs.  
  
"Wha - " he startled. "Marie? What are... how did you know where to find me?"  
  
"Call it woman's intuition." She plopped down beside him. "Plus a little common sense. Where else were y'gonna go? Am I right in thinking you came here to think things over?"  
  
He sighed - a dejected sound. "Yeah."  
  
"You wanna talk about it?" she asked, but he said nothing in reply.   
  
Marie cast a wary glance over at her friend. His face was drawn, and there were worry lines at the corners of his pale blue eyes. He looked a wreck, as anyone might do after receiving the information he had mere hours ago.   
  
She regarded him critically, then said: "You want me to leave you alone?"  
  
"No, no," he assured her. "It's just... ach, I'm so confused. I don't know what I should do, Marie."  
  
_Neither would I in your situation,_ she thought, but said: "Well, what do you *wanna* do?"  
  
He contemplated her words for a moment, not looking at her. "You want the truth?" His tone was stiffly reserved, and strange to here when addressing her. "I'd like to go, Marie."  
  
Her mouth dropped open. Never, in all her days would she have considered Pietro the Loyal a deserter. He'd even stuck by that Kaju, his ex-mentor Emilios when he got in trouble with the council a few months ago for brawling. Loyalty like that was hard to find, and - or so she'd thought - unshakable.  
  
"You'd desert the Guild? Just like that?"  
  
"Nuh-uh." He shook his head. "Not desertion. Would you believe it, but Emilios has worked it so that I could go *legally*? Kind of like a... a vacation." He used the word the Silver Scouts had introduced to their tongue, and she blinked, recalling the meaning behind it. Vacations did not exist in the Guild, and the notion was an odd one to contemplate.   
  
Pietro went on. "The Council's already approved his request, provided he goes with me as an escort. And I come back afterwards, of course. Except, that part never really came up in the conversation."  
  
Marie stared, at a loss for what to say. When she'd come to find him, she'd assumed he would never leave The Guild, and that she'd be telling him he'd made the right decision by not going to Österrik. It came as a complete shock to her system that he would actually *want* to go, and she simply sat there, opening and shutting her mouth like a beached fish.  
  
He glanced up, saying ruefully: "I was afraid you'd react like this. That's why I needed some time to think about it - to phrase it properly. But I've obviously botched things up. Again."  
  
"You'd leave?" she repeated, incredulous. "Just like that?"  
  
"Not forever," he hastily reassured her, "just for a couple of months. It'd be like going on a mission. Except, when I got back I'd... I'd know who I was."  
  
Anger abruptly flared inside her chest. "You already know who you are," she snapped archly. "You're Pietro the Loyal." _Or at least, you were._  
  
"And you're Marie the Steadfast," he returned. "But beyond that, do you really know who you are?"  
  
She frowned, not seeing what he was getting at. "Of course I do. And so do you."  
  
"No, I don't Marie. That's the point." He let his chin fall onto his chest once more. "I'll admit it; before Emilios gave me the news, I'd never exactly considered my identity beyond the Guild. I was an assassin, and that was it. But now... now I want to know who I was before that. Where I come from. Who my kin are."  
  
"You come from the Guild, and we're your kin," Marie bit out. "Or are we not good enough for you anymore, now you've heard about this... this charlatan in Österrik?"  
  
"How do I know he's a charlatan?" Pietro demanded hotly. "For all I know, he could be telling the truth. He might really want to see me. The message the Council received said he's spent years tracking me down, and wants to meet me."  
  
"Then let him come here," she virtually spat. "Let *him* come to *you* if he's that desperate to meet you."  
  
"Marie, you *know* that wouldn't work. The Council would never allow someone they hadn't approved to come here. That's why they strung up the messenger who delivered the scroll, remember?" his eyes travelled down, casting over the tight roll of paper in his hand. One corner was soaked a brownish-scarlet, but the rest was relatively clean. "This place is secret, or had you forgotten?"  
  
She stared sulkily at the ground, muttering; "No."  
  
Pietro looked at her, wishing she could understand why he had to do this. He sighed once more. "I have to go, Marie. I didn't tell you before, but this Erik character, he... he says he's my..." - he swallowed - "... father."  
  
She exploded. "What? Your *father*." There was disbelief and scepticism in her voice, and he winced. "But I thought you said he was just some distant relation?"  
  
"That was because I needed some thinking time. I didn't want any pressure from anyone," he replied, turning aside his gaze and saying in a small voice: "not even you, Marie. Don't you ever wonder where you came from? Who your family were before you were trained by Logan? You had to have a mother to birth you, but you're the only female in the Guild. So who was she? Don't you ever wonder about things like that?"  
  
She shuffled her feet self-consciously, unwilling to admit the truth. "Sometimes."  
  
"Emilios thinks I should."  
  
"That Yept-for-brains just wants a break from being around here. You know he's been suspended from missions until he sorts his act out. All Emilios wants is a..." she wrinkled her nose, "A... *vacation*. He doesn't care about you. Why else would he be going to Österrik, of all places? There's nothing for him there."  
  
"Be that as it may, he's still my ticket out of here. Marie, I've made my decision. I wish I could've phrased it better, but it's too late now." Pietro breathed deeply, as if gathering strength, and hurriedly gabbled what he wanted to say. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to Österrik to see if this guy really is who he says he is. To find out if he really is my father."  
  
His jabbered words hung between them like an intangible gulf. Pietro looked away, embarrassed, whilst Marie could only gaze at the Arena below.  
  
She was flabbergasted. That her best friend would voluntarily leave her... it was almost too much for even *her* harsh resolve to take. Through all of their training, and all of the missions they'd taken so far in their assassin careers, they'd always been there for each other. Even at their title ceremonies, they'd stood side by side to receive their names and swords. For them to do anything without the other was... well, it was unthinkable. Almost absurd, in some fundamental way. It hurt her that he'd kept information so momentous as this from her, and a feeling of dread manifested in the pit of her stomach.   
  
_If he's willing to keep personal stuff from me, and lie like that, then what's to say he won't just *stay* in Österrik? Become a Rogue and remain with his... with his... his *father*._ Even inside her own head the word came out a sneer. She hadn't met the elusive man who claimed to be of her friend's blood, but already she hated him for threatening to take Pietro away from her. It surprised her a little. She'd never been the most emotional of people, but a deep sense of regret filled her at the thought of losing him so abruptly and so completely.  
  
_If he's in Österrik, then I'll probably never see him again. Ever. Unless... unless I'm the one sent to assassinate him for desertion._ She shivered. _I don't know if I could do that to someone I care about. But I don't know if I could become a Rogue for disobeying orders, either._  
  
Cold silence stretched between the two teenagers, making both of them extremely uncomfortable; until at last, Marie broke it. Her voice was resigned, and with more than a hint of sadness to it.  
  
"Are y'gonna come back?"  
  
" 'Course." Pietro said, evidently surprised that she would ask such a question.  
  
"No, I mean *really*." She turned to face him, eyes serious. "No lies, Pietro. I want the truth. You don't know who this Erik character is. All you know is that he sent you some scroll telling you he knows who you 'really' are and wants to meet you in some tiny little village on the Österrikan border. The fact that he knew where to send the messenger is weird enough, but... Look, if by some chance this 'Erik' character really is your father, are you gonna stay for good with him in Österrik?"  
  
He looked at her, expression incalculable. "I can't say the thought's never crossed my mind," he admitted at length, "and I'd be lying if I said I'd never considered it as a possibility. I don't want to lie to you, Marie. You're the truest friend a person could wish for. I wouldn't want to hurt you by lying or sugar-coating the truth. You at least deserve to know what's going on." He tapped at the side of his head, inadvertently brandishing the scroll. "In here, as well as out there."  
  
Her breath all but hitched in her throat. So it was true. He *was* going to live in Österrik with his new father. He *was* going to leave her. She'd be alone - abandoned to this lonely life of shady dealings and bloody pacts. The thrill of the hunt wouldn't be so sweet if she had nobody to share it with afterwards. Logan didn't count. He didn't understand her the way Pietro did. To Logan, this was just a job. He liked fighting, not hunting. Sometimes, she believed he didn't want to kill his targets, and only did so out of some strange sense of duty or debt to the Council.   
  
But Pietro knew; Pietro knew the delicious sensation of tracking prey, of performing the deed and returning triumphant to The Guild. He knew what it was like to meet with your best friend and relate tales of daring do until late at night in your chambers; to practise swordplay and cards, but never lose sight of that camaraderie that had stuck with you since you couldn't remember. Pietro knew, and shared them.   
  
Or at least, he had.  
  
"Go then."  
  
The white-haired boy glanced at her. "What?"  
  
"Go. Go to Österrik and your poxy father. Go. I don't care. I don't care if I never see you again." She spit the words out like hot coals, voice gravely and frozen.  
  
"Marie, you don't mean that - "  
  
"Yes, I do," she cut in. She looked away, unable to meet his pained gaze. "I don't need you."  
  
"But I need you."  
  
She blinked at that, eyes still averted. "No, you don't. You need your family. Your *real* family. You said so yourself. So go to them. Your father obviously wants you." She lifted her chin and made to rise to her feet. "I don't."  
  
"But - "  
  
"You're gonna go anyway, no matter what I say. So just go now, and spare me your insincere goodbyes. I don't wanna here 'em."  
  
"Marie, if you'd just listen for a second!"  
  
Her eyes flashed, but stayed away from his face. "No, I - "  
  
"Marie!" He reached out and caught the crook of her arm, pulling her round to face him. "Marie, I'd never leave you. This Erik may be my father, but I'd never put anyone above you." he was emphatic. "Never!"  
  
She stared at him, still sceptical. "You said you needed to find out who you are - where you came from."  
  
"I may not know where I'm from, but I know where my life is going, Marie. Straight back here. I need *you* more than any father I've never met before."  
  
She looked at him, gaze slitted. Indisputable sincerity glistened in his eyes, of the kind that rarely inhabits mere humans without being tainted by their ultimately disingenuous nature.   
  
Pietro stared at her, willing her to understand; hoping with all his heart that he could make her appreciate why he had to do this, but also why he would never leave her; to silently tell her what he could never say aloud.  
  
Marie looked at him, slowly coming to realise what he meant. His eyes pleaded with her, and she answered them with a tentative smile, telling them she understood, and despite what her pained tongue had said, she didn't hold it against him; that she too cared too much to hurt and lose him.  
  
He raised a hand to cup her face. He ran one finger along her pale cheekbone and leaned forward, closing his eyes. With a tenderness incongruous to their brutal profession, and filled with all the apprehension of youth, his lips touched hers.   
  
She was warm, and didn't retaliate against him. Affection flowed through her body, as they melded together in a warm kiss, and her own hands reached up to encapsulate his face.   
  
The newness of the experience lent wings to their emotions, sending the pair of them soaring to the stars, hand in hand. They rode, giggling, on a sea of friendship that had deepened into something else, feeling for the first time the intensity of what the other had become to them. In those few tender moments they made a silent pact. Begun in friendship, and forged in love, they promised they'd see each other again some day. Come hell or high water, they'd see each other again.   
  
Somehow.  
  
Gently, they broke apart, but neither felt able to remove their hands. They both revelled in the touch of the other's skin, of the warmth there, and the faintly pulsating veins signifying life. The life they'd quiescently promised to share together.   
  
Marie rested her forehead against Pietro's, and he smiled, whispering softly into her ear: "I'll come back. I promise."  
  
*******************  
  
Marie stood outside Councillor Maxor's chamber, waiting. She rocked idly back and forth on the heels of her boots, eyes flickering this way and that in a nervous manner. She'd never been called by the head councillor before, only by his subordinates.   
  
The empty hallway echoed forebodingly, and she could hear the steady 'drip-drip-dripping' of water trickling through a hole in the roof. It was raining again. It had been raining on and off for several weeks now, but that was only to be expected in the transition between Winter and Spring. She heard the distant rumble of thunder, and if she'd been outside, then she would've been privy to a flash of lightning illuminating the dark sky.  
  
_What a miserable night,_ she thought dejectedly. _And here I was hoping to get in some night-manoeuvres training. Fat chance now._   
  
Pseudo-indolently, she perused the hilt of her hunting knife, rubbing at a speck of dirt that wasn't really there. It gleamed in the weak torchlight, flickering flames reflected in shining metal.   
  
She'd been cleaning it when the message arrived. 'Councillor Maxor requests the presence of Marie the Steadfast immediately for a private consultation concerning a most delicate matter of the utmost security.' She'd been intrigued, not to mention dutiful about following the messenger directly to his chambers on the uppermost level of the Guild's underground complex. As she was considerably younger and less important than he, her chambers were on a lower level, and had been forced to traverse several flights of roughly hewn stairs to reach her destination. Despite this, the passage adjoining Councillor Maxor's compartments was considerably darker and underlit compared to her own, and she was forced to strain her eyes to see almost anything.  
  
Patiently, she waited; mind wandering more than once onto a number of various subjects. None of which she could settle on thanks to her nervousness.   
  
_I wonder what he wants to see me about? It sounded very urgent. Has Pietro crossed into Österrik yet? It's been two moons now. I hope Emilios has been treating him right. That dripping sure is loud. Wonder if the rain will let up any time soon? I really wanted to get in some training before mah next mission. Come to think of it, I should be getting a new mission soon. It's not usual for them to leave it so long. Where will I go next? Perhaps Österrik? Ha ha, no such luck, Marie._  
  
Suddenly, the thick oaken door beside her gave a squeak and opened a crack. She whirled round, but there was nobody there. Instead, a voice filtered out.  
  
"Enter."   
  
Replacing the knife in her boot, Marie adjusted her cloak - which she'd put on more to cover her less-than-presentable training armour rather than because she was going anywhere. In truth, it had been fashioned from bits and bobs she'd gleaned from male assassin cast-offs, and as a result was useable, but rather unsightly. To her, it was beautiful in an incongruous way, but others only noticed that it was male, not female armour, and judged it as such.  
  
She went in, closing the door behind her after a perfunctory glance down the corridor to make sure nobody else was there. Then, turning around, she found herself in a large room, with echoing floorboards and arches that obviously led to other adjacent chambers.   
  
It was a cluttered space, with a round table right in the middle of it, and a warm fire burning nicely in the grate. It was obvious to whom it belonged, since only a councillor would have concerned himself with the objects crowding in from every conceivable angle - disintegrating parchments caked in the dust of bygone ages; beautifully delicate ivory carvings of strange and exotic creatures, presumably imported from the Far-East; tapestries of richest silk and satin, embroidered to resemble myths and legends from each and every realm ever visited by an assassin; various curved vials and bottles brimming with oddly hued liquids; rusty swords, unusable as combat weapons but filled with history and character; skulls (some with lighted wicks burning in their open mouths) and other fragmented brown bones, the origin of which was best left un-investigated; and the mandatory number oil lamps and candles, all overflowing with sticky wax that oozed onto the surfaces they rested upon, notwithstanding the fact that a number of them were not even lit.  
  
In the midst of this ostensible chaos a small figure sat. His snowy beard stretched down to his waist, and on his head he wore an unusual black hat, most likely to cover the lack of hair therein. His clothes were dark, and spattered with candle-wax and all manner of other substances, which resulted in him fading into the background somewhat in the flickering iridescence of the chamber.  
  
"Come in, child. Come in." He gestured that Marie should step forward, and squinted at her through an old monocle, reputedly given to him by the King of Espan, many moons ago, for a successful mission against the monarch's usurping son. Edged in pure gold, the monocle flashed in the firelight, making Marie blink involuntarily.  
  
"Marie the Steadfast," he said at last.   
  
"Yes, Councillor Maxor," she replied, unsure how to address him.   
  
If she was incorrect, then he seemed not to notice as he motioned for her to sit down on a chair partially covered in dried-out old maps tied up in faded ribbon. She perched on the edge, unwilling to crush the items, but not knowing where to put them otherwise. Something told her that, though the room may appear chaotic to her, for Councillor Maxor there was some degree of organisation.  
  
"I have called you here on a most important matter, my dear," Maxor wheezed, reaching for a tankard of frothy liquid nearby and taking a long gulp of it. No such beverage was offered to Marie. Not that she noticed. "A most important matter indeed."  
  
"I am yours to command, Councillor," she said obediently, to which he smiled through his foam covered beard.  
  
"Glad to hear it. The younger generation are so much harder to control than they used to be. It's good to hear some obedience for a change. Firstly, my dear, I must ask you a few questions, to make sure that you are the right one for the job."  
  
_A mission then,_ Marie thought. "As y'wish."  
  
Maxor grinned again, laying his hands in his lap. "To start with, how long have you had your sword and title, girl?"  
  
"Twelve and a half moons, Councillor."  
  
"And you were trained by Emilios the Savage, were you not?"  
  
"No sir. I was not." Marie could hardly keep the disgust out of her voice. "His pupil was Pietro the Loyal."  
  
"Oh yes, the one who's gone to Österrik for something or other," Maxor said quickly. His eyes, like pieces of coal set deep in his portly face, darted to and fro as he spoke, scanning the room in a most disconcerting fashion. Marie hardly had time to ponder on it, though, because he pressed on immediately, as if this was a subject on which he didn't wish to linger. "So who was it trained you, girl?"  
  
"Logan the Swift, sir," she replied, a little putout by his constant forgetting of her name.  
  
"Ah, yes," Maxor nodded. "Now I remember. Tell me child, why do they call you 'Steadfast'?"  
  
She blinked. The councillors had given her the title, along with a little help from Logan. Surely he should know why it had been bestowed upon her, since he was head of the Guild Council? "I... I suppose because I don't lose mah head in a fight, sir. I don't let mah emotions cloud mah judgement."  
  
"Good, good," he murmured mysteriously. "But surely you must be called that for other reasons too. Titles are rarely given based on only one aspect of a person's character. What about your relationship with the Guild? Are you faithful to it?"  
  
What an odd line of questioning. "Yes, sir. Mah loyalty to The Guild of Assassins has never been in doubt. They're mah family. Mah home. Mah comrades in arms." _Or at least two members are. I can't say I speak for the rest._ She kept her errant thoughts to herself.  
  
"Just what I wanted to hear." Maxor clapped his hands together with glee. "Now finally, tell me, girl; if forced to choose between the good of one person and the good of many, whom would you choose?"  
  
"Why, the good of many, of course sir," she answered. "That being the most logical course of action."  
  
"And that concludes your test, m'girl." Maxor sat back in his chair, sighing happily.  
  
Marie raised one chiselled eyebrow. "Test, Councillor?"  
  
"Yes, and I'm pleased to say that you passed with flying colours."  
  
"I'm afraid I don't understand, sir."  
  
Maxor breathed heavily, blowing several strands of hair out of his small, rather puckered mouth. Marie tried not to think of horses' rears as she looked at it, and instead looked at his darting, intelligent black eyes.  
  
"You wouldn't, my dear, because the mission I was testing you for is very hush-hush, if you get what I mean." He pressed a finger to his lips. "What I'm about to tell you must never leave this chamber."  
  
"As y'wish, Councillor."  
  
"Good, good." He leaned forward, expression beneath his hairy brows becoming earnest. "Girl, you're aware that to all assassins, the safety and secrecy of the Guild and its activities is paramount, don't you?"  
  
"Sure do, sir," she said, still having no idea where he was going with this.  
  
"Well, of late, certain... politics have been going on amongst The Guild and a... shall we say, an outside party."  
  
"Outside party, sir?"  
  
"The identity of this party is none of your concern, girl," Maxor said rather sharply, "it is strictly Council business." Marie must have looked shocked at this abrupt change in tone, for his face then softened, and his voice became deceptively gentle once more. "But let me assure you, it is a very delicate procedure, and has recently been jeopardised by the actions of one individual. I must stress, my dear," he leaned forward towards her, laying one knarled hand on her knee, "that these negotiations are *very* important. If anything should happen to them, then the results could be disastrous for us."   
  
Marie kept herself from shuddering only by pure force of will. It was like being draped with a clammy corpse. His fingers were cold, gripping her firmly, and his eyes never left her face.  
  
She didn't know why, but somehow she knew that by 'us', Councillor Maxor wasn't talking about the entire Guild. A strange feeling of uneasiness began to form in the pit of her stomach; growing and climbing up her insides as she listened to the wizened old man continue. She couldn't explain it, but she'd long-since learnt to trust her instincts.  
  
"Thus it is that I have called you here tonight, my dear. We are in desperate need of your assistance to rid us of the individual who so threatens our negotiations."  
  
"I don't rightly understand your thinking, if y'don't mind me saying, Councillor," Marie interjected. "There's more experienced assassins than me at your disposal. Why choose me, a mere rookie to perform such an important mission?"  
  
He nodded sagely. "Ah, yes. Well, you see, we of The Council have heard of your prowess and talent, my dear child." The hand on her knee inched its way upwards slightly and tightened its grip. "And believe that, with the advantage of youth and alacrity on your side, you were the best choice. Plus there is the added advantage of loyalty..."he muttered, half to himself.  
  
"Loyalty, sir?" she repeated. "Is this another test? Are you assessing mah reliability as an assassin?"  
  
"Partially," he replied tactlessly, "but there is also the matter that you can use the target's trust against him to complete the task."  
  
Once again, Marie blinked in bewilderment. "Excuse me sir, but I'm confused."  
  
"Then allow me to elucidate for you."   
  
Maxor grasped the sides of his chair and hauled his body creakily out of it. He walked over to stand in front of the fire, staring into the flames like a thing transfixed. Marie waited patiently for him to carry on, and at length he deigned to, though he didn't face her.   
  
"Marie the Steadfast, your new target is Logan the Swift."  
  
One could have heard her jaw hit the floor as it dropped. "L... Logan? But why?"  
  
"Yours is not to question, yours is just to do," Maxor reminded her pertly. "Your loyalty is to the Guild, is it not? And Logan has become a danger to us; so he must therefore be eradicated. He trusts you, so you will be able to get close enough to kill him without too much mishap."  
  
Marie simply gaped. Kill Logan? The man who'd raised and trained her? Made her who she was today? He was like a father to her. How could she possibly murder him in cold blood?  
  
You've done it before, her almost-conscience pointed out. The men you assassinated over the past twelve moons were probably fathers, brothers and sons to people, yet you killed them. And without a second thought.  
  
_But this is *Logan*,_ she mentally argued. _*Logan*. It's different._  
  
How so?  
  
_Because... because I placed mah loyalty to him when I was a baby: he cared for me. Nurtured me. I gave mah allegiance to The Guild when I received mah title. There's a lot of difference between twelve moons of loyalty and sixteen Winters' worth._  
  
But what about the good of many overcoming the good of one person? What about that?  
  
_I'm not sure. But I don't trust Councillor Maxor. There's just something about him rubs me up the wrong way. I'd like to know just what these 'negotiations' are that Logan's supposedly jeopardizing before I make any promises._  
  
"Girl, why don't you say anything?" Maxor demanded softly from the hearth.  
  
"Councillor Maxor, I have to ask, what is it that Logan's done to deserve assassination? As far as I know, he's been the model recruit all his career."  
  
Maxor sighed. "Logan the Swift has been sticking his Wolverinnen nose where it's not wanted. He's somehow got hold of information that may effectively collapse the delicate situation with our... benefactor, if it ever got out. And I *know* that he means for it to get out."  
  
Marie's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Benefactor?"  
  
For a moment, Maxor seemed flustered. "I mean outside party. He is to be beneficial to the Guild in the future, hence my slip of the tongue."  
  
"So it's one man, then. Not a group of people," she surmised aloud, rubbing at her ear in thought.  
  
"Enough of this question and answer session." Maxor swivelled his head to look at her. "Do you, or do you not accept the mission?"  
  
Marie stared back at him, meeting his gaze sedately. Her exterior showed nothing but composedness and calm, but inside she was fizzing with half-recalled memories about something Logan had been up to recently. She and her ex-mentor had grown apart somewhat since she'd received her title, and he hadn't taken on another pupil in her wake. As a result, they didn't see each other as often as they would've liked, since their missions rarely coincided.   
  
Yet recently, on those rare occasions when she *had* seen him, he'd only talked about... now, what was it again? 'Something big' he'd said. 'Something big and dangerous, to all assassins'. If only she could remember what it was. It had something to do with Councillor Maxor wanting him dead, she was sure of it. The signs all pointed that way, as did her own gut feeling.  
  
But what? That was the question.  
  
"Well?" Maxor tapped his foot impatiently. "What is your answer, girl?"  
  
This part of the process was just for show, to make the assassin in question think he or she had a choice in the matter. They didn't really, but each councillor who doled out missions insisted on going through the motions anyway. Here was where she was supposed to accept the task set for her. To kill Logan. Her mentor. Her friend.  
  
Absently, as it always did whenever she was presented with a fresh hunt, Marie's hand strayed to her sword-hilt. She tapped the end thoughtfully; wishing with all her might she could remember what Logan had been talking about. It was connected, she knew it was. But how? She had to remember quickly. Maxor was getting irritated. Involuntarily, her fingers curled around the handle of her sword.  
  
Suddenly, something stirred.  
  
Her sword.  
  
Sword...  
  
Shining... sword-blade. a precious metal... dangerous... 'politics'... something about silver... silver... silver...  
  
Silver Sword!  
  
"The Silver Sword!" she said incredulously, and much louder than she meant to.  
  
Maxor glanced up sharply. "What did you say?"  
  
"That's your mysterious 'benefactor', isn't it? The Silver Sword."  
  
Maxor's eyes darkened. "What do you know about The Silver Sword? He has nothing to do with the Guild."  
  
"Not yet he doesn't," Marie replied hotly, "but if the Council get their way, he soon will be."  
  
"He got to you first, didn't he?" Maxor demanded, all traces of amiability vanishing as he turned to face her. "Logan contaminated your mind against us."  
  
"No, he opened mah eyes," she retorted. "Don't you know what'll happen if you ally the Guild of Assassins with the Silver Sword? We'll lose our identity. He'll crush us out of existence and put us to work in his armies and mines. Is that what you want?"  
  
"The Silver Sword has promised to *enhance* The Guild," Maxor proclaimed, not a little prudishly.  
  
"Only so's he can use us to his own ends. Logan found out about this, didn't he? He found out just what the Silver Sword's planning to do to the rest of us once he gets us under his thumb, didn't he? That's why you want him dead. So that he can't spread the warning until it's too late to do anything."  
  
"That's *enough*!" Maxor shouted, cheeks colouring as he spoke. "You will talk no more, you mere *child*! What do you know about the delicate politics of the Guild of Assassins?"  
  
"Enough to know that there must be something in it for you if you're willing to sacrifice all those people. They look up to you, and respect you. And you'd betray them, just like that." She snapped her fingers to emphasize her point. "You're... you're just disgusting." The words were out before she could stop them, and Maxor's face purpled.  
  
"I said *ENOUGH*! You will be *silent*!" he roared at a volume out of place in his old body. "Marie the Steadfast, you refuse the mission given to you by the head Councillor himself, *and* further disgrace yourself by insulting the council in plain hearing."  
  
"Yes," she replied daringly, with much more nerve than she actually felt. This was a councillor. What in all Seven Hells was she *thinking*? "I do."  
  
"Then," Maxor said sepulchrely, "you are *outcast*." There was more than a hint of inexplicable triumph in his tone. "You shall no longer be known as Marie the Steadfast. Henceforth, you are a Rogue. One to be shunned and hunted to the ends of Earth-Realm, until your foul presence no longer infects this world. Guards! Guards!" He lunged for an erstwhile-unseen pulley hanging from the ceiling. It rang once before the girl in the chair launched herself forward, knocking him backwards with a well-place elbow to the midriff.   
  
Maxor stumbled, tripping gracelessly over a pile of leather-bound books strewn across the floor. His arms windmilled as he tumbled rearwards, falling into the formerly heart-warming fire with a yell and a rush of sparks. The girl needed no more opportunity. She dashed to the door, wrenched it open, and was through and away in an instant.  
  
"Guards! Catch her, damnit! Don't let that Rogue escape. Kill her! Slay her quickly! Guards! Hurry, you buffoons!" Councillor Maxor's cries rang in her ears as she ran down the corridor.  
  
_Thank the gods his chambers were on the upper level near the exits,_ she thought gratefully.  
  
Yet her thanks were premature, it seemed; for as she rounded a corner a pair of burly men carrying spears bore down on her. They wore the Guild insignia on their clothes, and were quite obviously Council-guards simply by the way they yelled upon seeing her, giving chase instantly.  
  
Fleetingly, she thought how stupid they were, pursuing the first girl they came across without any regard for her identity. After all, concubines weren't all that uncommon around here anymore, what with the Silver Scouts introducing them. Blind and mute, the girls were often seen traversing the corridors going from one set of chambers to another.  
  
However, her mind was predominantly taken up with escape, and the lack thereof in her current situation. Desperately she turned back on herself, hurrying back along the passage until she came to an underground crossroads of sorts.   
  
Darting left, she ran as fast as her legs could take her, feet slapping the floor as she went. Her breath came in short panting gasps, as she zigzagged this way and that, trying to lose her pursuers. Soon she had no real idea where she was anymore, though the sounds of the guards had faded into obscurity some way back. Desperately, she began searching for a way out. She had to get away; away from this place with its false leaders and broken promises; Away from the deception and the lies, and the council's bloodlust in the pursuit of power - even against their own.  
  
Her cloak billowed out behind her. Where the Yept was the way out? She was sure she'd passed this way before, just before the guards chased her. Frantically, she ran to and fro, looking for some kind of an escape.  
  
Then at last she found it. A heavy door, locked, and with the key removed. A faint breeze blew in around the edges, and after a few rams with her shoulder yielded no results, it was but the work of a moment to cleave off the lock with her sword.   
  
And then she was free. Appreciatively, she dashed from the opening, only to be confronted by a score of brawny sentries already waiting for her outside.  
  
_What the Yept?_ she thought incredulously. _How did they get here so fast?_  
  
There was no time for more pondering, as the first of the men rushed at her. Yet for all their size and strength they weren't quick of wit, and she deftly threw herself aside, dropping into a roll and jumping up to keep on running.   
  
Where to? She didn't know. The only thing that was important was putting one foot in front of the other; was getting away. Staying alive. Escape.  
  
_Keep going,_ she told herself. _Just keep going. Don't look back. Keep running._  
  
Her chest burned and heaved with exertion as she ran and ran and ran and *ran*. But no matter how fast she went, or how many zigzags she made, there was always someone behind her; always a pursuer at her heels, never letting up. It was more than their lives were worth to give up the chase, and her life depended on carrying on. So they continued. On and on and on; a flurry of people running through the trees in the moonlight.  
  
Gradually, the landscape around her became more familiar. She glanced around, sure that she recognised things, but going too fast to get a proper look and discern exactly where she was. A canopy of leaves and branches fenced off the sky overheard, and she ran now in near-complete darkness. Several times she stumbled, but she didn't once lose her footing or fall. Twigs scratched at her exposed face, scoring deep red lines through her skin and making their stinging way across her malleable flesh.  
  
Suddenly the trees were gone, and a pungent smell invaded her nostrils.   
  
Salt.  
  
Immediately, she realised where she was, and put on another burst of speed. The guards behind emitted yet another wordless battle-cry and renewed their efforts, pounding onwards, heedless of the grass that gave way to sandy rocks and half-buried stones that stubbed their feet and toes as they ran.  
  
_Keep going. Keep going. Just a little further now._  
  
She leaped patches of scrub, speed never faltering for a second. Pound, pound, pound. Her heart thumped against her ribcage, as if trying to break loose. Just a little further. Not far now. Just a little. Bit. Further.  
  
Abruptly, the ground she was running on ended, dropping away into a sheer cliff nestling into the crashing embrace of the sea. The fleeing girl teetered on the edge for a moment, before stepping backwards away from the unquestionably lethal fall. Breathing heavily, she spun back to face her oncoming pursuers.  
  
The mob slowed their pace, and crept towards her in a wide arc, effectively cutting off any retreat away from the cliff edge. Their faces were obscured by shadows, but their expressions were bleak. Her own face was angry and grim, as she readied herself for what she knew would be the final showdown.   
  
Her sword was still clutched in her sweaty palms, and she raised it before her, silently challenging the guards to final combat. She wasn't going to go meekly. Let them come and take her, if they dared.  
  
With a shout, one of them broke ranks and bounded forward. Presumably he wished to enhance his status with the council by killing her single-handedly. He jutted out his spear, but she ducked, ramming her blade deep into the exposed chest. For a moment he looked startled, before she savagely wrenched her sword free and sent him tumbling into the frothing waves far below. Her expression didn't waver one iota.  
  
All at once, all hells broke loose. At the sight of their slain comrade, the remaining guards ploughed forward in one great mass, hoping to skewer her or push her off by sheer force of numbers.  
  
However, she was too shrewd for that. She became a deadly whirlwind of stabbing blades and jabbing limbs, cutting a swathe through their ranks before they even had time to register that she was fighting back. Several men fell to her in those few bloody minutes, their bodies littering the ground, or else plummeting into the sea to be lost among the white-capped waves.  
  
Yet she couldn't win. Wherever she cut down a guard, another sprang up in his place. Her flesh became torn in a multitude of different places, and blood sprayed and mingled into the air as each side's weapons found their marks. There were simply too many of them for her to beat the single-handedly, and she was tired from the chase. Gradually they forced her back, fighting and swearing all the way to the crumbling brink of the cliff.  
  
There she stopped, hurling off a man nearly twice her size and whipping round to face his brethren. Her features were streaked with sweat and blood, and she breathed hard, glaring harshly at those who would see her dead in the line of duty.   
  
It didn't take a prophet to see that she was done for. Already they were regrouping and coming at her for another attack; an attack that would finish her for good this time. The taste of copper swirled inside her mouth, and she spat part of a broken tooth out onto the ground, never taking her green eyes from them.  
  
It was ironic, really. This was the very same spot where Pietro had saved her from dying just over twelve moons ago, and now it seemed the god of Death was back to reclaim the prize that had eluded him. Her lips curved into a sardonic smile. She wasn't afraid of death by any means - what assassin was? - but she wished she could have warned Logan before she passed, or at the very least seen Pietro one last time.  
  
Pietro.  
  
_Guys, I'm sorry._ She sent out a mental apology. _Y'all rescued me from the sea before, but it looks like your efforts were for nothing. I just wish I could tell y'all that mahself. I wish I could tell you that I'm sorry I won't be here when you get back.... and that I love y'all._  
  
It felt good to finally say the words, even if they were just in her head. Liberating. Like a heavy mantle had been removed from her shoulders, and she could now think clearly about her final precious moments.  
  
Suddenly she was struck by an idea; an outlandish notion spawned in the throes of desperation. An idea so crazy, that it just might work.   
  
She cast a thoughtful glance at the soil beneath her feet, noting how close to the edge she was balanced. The wind caught at her hair, sea-spray plastering a few locks to her already crimson-smeared forehead. Looking back at her approaching foes, she smiled cruelly, and replaced the sword in its scabbard.  
  
Momentarily they looked perplexed, blinking at her in the moonlight. Her grin widened, and she shouted above the waves:  
  
"Sorry boys, but I choose mah own path!"  
  
With that, she spread her arms, and purposefully toppled backwards over the cliff.   
  
A few masculine cries were emitted as she plummeted to the furiously churning water below, but they were rapidly replaced by a roaring that blotted out all thoughts, sounds and senses. Spray whistled past her face, stinging her eyes and splashing her skin with an almost refreshing vim. Her mouth opened in one last victorious shout.  
  
Then she hit the water.  
  
And her world became chaos.  
  
*******************  
  
The Captain of the Council Guards leaned out as far as he dared, craning his neck in hope of spotting the Rogue who'd evaded him and his men in favour of a watery grave. His dark blue eyes darted here and there, taking in the churning froth smashing bits of flotsam and jetsam against the rocks, which poked above the surface now and again; hidden weapons the ocean used to fill its bed with unsuspecting cadavers.  
  
"Did she know about them when she jumped?" he wondered aloud.  
  
"Wonder about what, Cap'n?" a nearby guard with a crown of blondish fuzz asked. The Captain started, not even realizing he'd spoken but recovering quickly.  
  
"Those rocks down there." He pointed with his reddened spearhead.  
  
"Perhaps that's why she did it," offered another, bearded man, with more hair on his chin than his scalp. "Better to die quick-like on the rocks than drown. I hear you stay alive for a few minutes underwater, and feel everything right up until the moment you pass on."  
  
"Can any of you see a body?" the Captain asked, bringing them back to the matter at hand. "It might be impaled on one of them, or still be hanging around near the bases."  
  
"Nay, I cannae see nowt," replied yet another guard in a thick Highland accent. "If'n it be goon int'ay water then ye'll nay see t'wood fer trees."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"He means, if she's fallen in the water, the waves will have covered the body and we won't be able to see it," translated Blondie.  
  
"'At's what ah seed, 'int it?"  
  
"Plus, the current may have already taken her out to sea by now," added Beardy.  
  
"Then look further out for a corpse," his superior ordered. "We don't go back until we know what's happened to her for *sure*, or it'll be our heads that roll."  
  
All the panting men scanned the water as far as they could see, and after a minute or two one of them shouted, "Lookie, oot theer!"  
  
"What?"  
  
Highlander pointed. "Lookie, a body."  
  
"Its floating Cap'n," reported Blondie, shielding his eyes against the reflected moonlight's glare. "Doesn't seem to be moving either; and her face is in the drink. I think she's dead."  
  
The Captain gave a sigh of relief. "Mission accomplished then, lads. Though it was a bit unorthodox, I must say. But we got the job done, so let's - "  
  
"Wait, Cap'n!" Beardy exclaimed. "Wait! She's... I think she's moving!"  
  
All of them crowded to the edge again.  
  
"Probably just some sea-creature pulling her under as food. Nothing to worry about," the Captain surmised hastily, but was corrected by Highlander.   
  
"Nay. What ye be talkin' aboot, laddie? T'lass be swimmin'!"  
  
"Swimming?" He strained his vision until the backs of his eyeballs ached. "Gods be damned, she is! She's alive. Yept! And she's getting away!" Hurriedly he rapped out orders. "All of you back underground. I don't know how she survived that fall, but if we don't do something quick then our butchered carcasses will be the ones to take her place! Hurry now, we have to tell the Council that the Rogue got away! *Move* it!"  
  
Swiftly, his men ran from the precipice, melting into the trees like shadows into darkness. The Captain remained a while longer, and glanced out at the steadily absconding figure far out in the water, before following them.  
  
"Damn you, Rogue," he growled. "Damn you to all Seven Hells and beyond! You won't escape The Guild. Mark my words. You will never escape us all."  
  
*******************  
  
Heralded by the raucous call of seabirds, sunrays flooded golden and warm through the greyish morning clouds. The murky miasma parted to allow them passage, and they spurted down to gently caress everything within their reach.  
  
The beams of light caressed the wet bundle on the spume-covered tide-line, and a wayward seagull floated down off a thermal it had been riding to alight on the pitiful mound. Jerkily, it found its feet, flicking a feathered tail and turning its head to eye the likely looking package. Expectantly it tugged at a fold of sodden cloth, yanking this way and that in the typical manner of its kind.  
  
A gurgling groan set up at this, and the gull took noisily to the air as the bundle began to move. Cheated of the carcass it had mistaken for dead, it circled around, rejoining a haphazard flock and watching what unfolded below.  
  
The girl coughed, raising herself up on her hands. Bile and seawater retched from her gullet, and she could do nothing for a few minutes but let it flow. All the impurities she'd taken in were spewed forth, and afterwards she sighed with relief to be rid of them.  
  
Tiny wavelets lapped against her as she struggled to sit up. The world spun for a moment, but she doggedly refused to lie down again. Shielding her eyes against the sun, she took hazy stock of her surroundings.  
  
She was on a beach, but where and how were both mysteries. Vaguely, she remembered a long fall, and then descent into darkness where she clawed fruitlessly for light and air. Absently a hand went to her throat, recalling the desperate struggle for breath in a place where she couldn't tell up from down, and was thrown and smashed around heedlessly like a rag-doll.  
  
How had she gotten through that? The fall, the rocks, the swim to shore? A quick glance out to sea informed her that the Guild land she'd left wasn't even in view anymore. It was so far away it had ceased to be a feature on the horizon. She rubbed at her temple, trying to remember.  
  
A sizable piece of driftwood nearby answered the question of how she'd stayed afloat. The rest was still a blur, however, and she could only assume that her survival instincts had kicked in at just the right moment, forcing her to carry on.  
  
Recollections stirred lazily at the back of her mind. Of the time before the fall. The smell of incense. Pushing someone into the fire. Running. The fight on the cliff-top. Her last plea for Logan and Pietro.  
  
Pietro!  
  
The name echoed inside her skull. Where was he now? How long had she been out? Had he already discovered what she'd done and what she'd become in his absence?  
  
What she'd become...  
  
She blinked, recognising for the first time the magnitude of what had occurred. She no longer had a name. Her previous identity was no more. Her own people had cast her out. The people she'd lived with and around every day of her life. The people who'd sent her on missions and provided her food and board.  
  
The people who'd been willing to sacrifice thousands of lives for their own personal gain. The people who'd ordered her to murder the closest she'd ever gotten to a father.  
  
The Guild.  
  
Her mouth inadvertently became a hard thin line. She wasn't an assassin anymore. She was a Rogue. An exile. A pariah.  
  
But that was better than living a lie; of existing on a dangling thread, wondering when the day would come when she'd be recruited into the Silver Sword's faceless army. Or worse, sent to his mines as nothing more than a slave. Being a Rogue was better than that. Wasn't it?  
  
Wasn't it?  
  
On impulse she scrambled to her feet. One thing was for certain; she couldn't stay here. A hunting party would be dispatched forthwith, and since she had no idea how long she'd been unconscious, she had to move out straight away if she wanted to keep ahead of them.  
  
But you're outcast, her almost-conscience reminded her. You're duty-bound to die by either their hands or your own. When your name and title were stripped away you became nothing. A nobody. What kind of a life is that?  
  
_Mine,_ she replied, striding - somewhat shakily - up the saturated sands to the top of the beach.   
  
Her body was battered and bleeding, and her numerous cuts and wounds stung with the pain of a thousand stabbing needles; but all this served to remind her of one glorious fact. A fact that most people took for granted each and every day of their lives.  
  
She knew, and regretted, that there was no saving Logan now. Another would have already been assigned to the task, and it was too late for her to do anything about it. She mourned silently for her lost mentor, but strove to make a promise to his spirit that she wouldn't follow in his footsteps. She wouldn't fall as prey to the blood-and-power-lusts of the Guild Council.   
  
True she was a Rogue now, but she boasted something that they, with their shattered morals and untrue existences, could not. She'd survived where others saw only death and pain. She'd escaped the bloody fate laid out for her, and intended with all her heart to go on escaping it. She'd fought off an entire squad of Council Guards single-handedly, and remained to tell the tale. Tired and half-dead from exhaustion, she'd taken on the very ocean itself. And won.  
  
She was alive.  
  
*******************  
  
To Be Continued...  
  
*******************  
  
2 


	17. Revival By Proxy

DISCLAIMER: X-Men: Evo belongs to Warner Bros. And Marvel Comics. I have never, and shall never own them, no matter how much I may want to. I've simply warped them to fit my own twisted mind. However, this fic and any original work herein is officially mine, and anyone trying to steal it will find out how painful a weapon a computer mouse can when used by someone with imagination.  
  
WARNINGS: This is an AU (Alternative Universe) fic. Everything has been transplanted into a fantasy universe of my creation. Inspirations, despite what you might initially think, aren't actually from a certain Peter-Jackson-esque film project, since I started work on this before I ever *saw* those movies. Influences rather include InterNutter's spiffy fic 'Mein Teuful' (if you haven't yet read this then go do it *now*!) and various other sources I'll explain later.  
  
CODES:   
  
Hello = Narration  
  
_Hello_ = Thought  
  
"Hello" = Character Speaking  
  
*Hello* = Bold  
  
//Hello// = Psychic communication   
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Many, many thanks to everyone who reviewed - Klutz, Yumiko, Quill of Molliemon, ezrajade, Emerald Lightning Goddess, UnknownSource, Arachnaphiliac, Lonley Poet, Cheesy Monkey, Morgannia, ChaosCat and AerinBrown - and a big extra thank you for hanging on until I pulled my socks up and posted something.   
  
I'll keep the A/N short and sweet, because nobody wants to hear me babble, but I really must mention that the main impetus behind this monster being updated is a spiffy piece of artwork of Assassin Rogue done by Arachnaphiliac, which can be found at http://www.internutter.org/bb/viewtopic.php?p=14344#14344 Concept sketches can be found at http://www.internutter.org/bb/viewtopic.php?t=447 Go revel in her greatness. ^____^  
  
*******************  
  
'Of Beast and Blade' By Scribbler  
  
Chapter Fifteen ~ 'Revival By Proxy'  
  
*******************  
  
'Without friends no one would choose to live, though he had all other goods.' -- Aristotle.  
  
*******************  
  
Underling Dukes looked up sharply at the sudden noise. His chins wobbled as he peered inquisitively at the source, piggish eyes widening when he realised exactly what it was. With footsteps that rivalled mini-earthquakes, he sped to the door of the Infirmary and called excitedly into the adjoining room.  
  
"Initiate Ashari! Initiate Ashari! Come quick!"  
  
The blonde Changeling appeared in the doorway, quill still in hand. Her hair was dishevelled, conspicuous black bags ringing her eyes and denoting several consecutive nights of insomnia and broken sleep. She yawned once, patting her mouth and leaving a splatter of ink on her cheek in the process.  
  
"What is it, Fred? I was working on a new tonic I've created to ease joint-trouble."  
  
"But Initiate Ashari," the oversized youth wrung his hands in agitation, "The Rogue, she - The *Rogue*!"  
  
"What about her?" Teah snapped. She knew that Fred was prone to overreact at things, and was in no mood to be trifled with this morning. Another night of screaming had ensured she slept little, and her nerves were fast reaching breaking point.  
  
Fred's next words, however, stunned her nearly into silence, and she stood for a moment, unable to do anything but stare up at his towering frame with her mouth open.  
  
"Initiate Ashari, I think she's waking up." After a few seconds, he then added; "Um, are you OK, Initiate Ashari?"   
  
"What? Yes, yes, fine." Teah waved him aside, and when he didn't take the hint, jostled brusquely past. "Quickly, go and fetch me the easement potion from shelf number four in the stockroom. It's in a blue conical flask and should be labelled as such. Hurry now. If she's coming to, we may need it."  
  
"Yes ma'am!" Fred gave a sort-of salute and set off on his required task, thumping across the floor and through the door towards the Infirmary stockroom.  
  
Teah turned back to the bed that lodged Rogue. As she swiftly crossed the room towards it, she threw a thought up into the air, ignoring for the moment how much she loathed mental communication.  
  
_Jean? Jean, where are you?_  
  
//I'm right here, Teah. In the library. There's no need to think so loud.//  
  
_No time for pleasantries, Jean. You have to bring Kurt, Kitty and Ororo to the Infirmary right away._  
  
Into Jean's psychic voice crept a suspicious edge. //Why? What's happened?// Her ability to show emotion in a soundless voice often amazed those she conversed with, but Teah was of no disposition to marvel at the girl's talents at present.  
  
_It's not so much what *has* happened, as much as what's *going* to happen._  
  
Jean sighed and tutted. //Fine, fine, I'll tell them. I think they're off somewhere with Jubilee again. Probably Underling Tabitha's tagging along too. But tell me first, Teah - what's going on?//  
  
The healer reached her patient's bedside. _It's The Rogue. She's waking up at last._  
  
*******************  
  
Kurt shifted his foot-grip on the back of the chair and asked for the umpteenth time, "Any progress?"  
  
"Not since the last time you asked me, five minutes ago, Kurt," Teah replied snappishly.  
  
He winced. "Entschuldigung. I'm just a bit... on edge. I get fidgety when I'm nervous."  
  
"We'd, like, noticed," Kitty chipped in, not unkindly, "it isn't gonna help, though, Kurt."  
  
"I know, I know, but I can't stop it." His tail lashed nervously, and from where he balanced on the chair-back he resembled nothing so much as a pendulum clock, of the sort that adorned rich houses. If anyone had felt humorous, they might have laughed; but, as it was, the atmosphere permeating the room was tense and foreboding - not unlike the calm before a storm.  
  
Kitty watched him reflectively. He'd been that way ever since they received the call from Jean that Rogue was showing signs of waking. That was several hours ago, now, and through the window out onto the courtyard the suns were already beginning to set. Night was fast approaching, and Rogue had yet to open her eyes.  
  
Of course, it wasn't the first time Kitty had stayed in the Infirmary after sunset. Over the past six nights since they'd arrived she'd spent a total of one in the bed actually allotted to her, and even then she'd been carried there, presumably by Fred when Teah discovered her slumped in her chair, next to Rogue's bedside as always. In the daytime the healer was always bustling around, doing this and that, and wouldn't brook any prolonged visits with people 'messing up the place' and getting in her way. Yet at night it was easier to stick around without being told off. At night, Kitty could sit quietly, cleaning Rogue's armour without fear of someone walking in on her and hearing her talking to the unconscious girl. At night, Kitty gained a little privacy, and utilized it to the fullest.   
  
Rogue's armour and weaponry positively glowed now, they were so clean. Kurt had been quite surprised at her insight to begin with, but soon also threw himself into the task, and had somehow managed to cajole Jubilee into helping them too, upon occasion - although often she couldn't due to her own chores around the temple.   
  
Kitty wasn't sure how she felt about Jubilee. The other Changeling had shown them nothing but kindness since they arrived, and had welcomed the odd pair into the fold with nary a word against them, barring those times when her irritation simply became too much and someone felt the sharp side of her tongue.   
  
_But she's *always* around. Whenever we do anything, Jubilee's there too. Sometimes I wish... I wish it was just me, Kurt and Rogue again. Weird as it sounds. I miss traipsing through the forest together, and being able to talk to Kurt without someone else butting in on the conversation. If there was one thing Rogue tried to avoid, it was conversation._  
  
She sighed, eliciting a glance from the elf himself. "Kätzchen, are you all right?"  
  
"Yeah." She propped her arm up on the side of her chair and resting one cheek against her fist. Despite her intentions to remain awake, she felt her eyelids drooping, and had to force them open again. "I'm fine," she added, hoping the effort of forming words would help to keep her conscious a while longer.  
  
Kurt regarded her. With his extra-sharp vision, he noted the dark patches beneath her eyes, and the dullness that had invaded. Her face appeared haggard and worn; as well it might considering how little sleep she'd been getting lately.   
  
A small smirk played about his lips, as he recalled carrying her to her bed last night. On a whim, and suffering from worry-induced insomnia himself, he'd visited the Infirmary and found her fast asleep in her seat. She'd looked so peaceful and tired that he couldn't bring himself to wake her, and instead had Bamfed her directly to her own bed and set her down to sleep in more comfort than the Infirmary furniture could offer. She probably had no idea how she'd gotten there in the morning, he thought wryly, but he didn't care. He liked doing little things for her, even if she didn't know that he was doing them.  
  
A faint groan from the bed captured his attention once more, and he turned to see Rogue's head gently rocking from side to side. Teah leaned across and dabbed at her forehead, but she could do nothing else for her. Rogue's fever had already broken two nights ago, amid much worrying and wringing of hands by all. Things had been pretty hairy for a while, he thought, pardoning himself for the self-inflicted cliché. Nobody had thought she was going to make it through, least of all Teah. She'd done her best, plying the sick girl with all the medical knowledge she possessed and exhausting her half-recovered healing powers as she attempted to ease the fever plaguing her patient; but Rogue had still waned to the point of no return, and everyone had thought she was certainly done for.  
  
He remembered how Kitty had sat in the corner throughout, resolutely polishing Rogue's sword in the hope that it might somehow help. He'd been sceptical at first, but soon found himself doing the same to her knife, if simply to occupy his hands; scrubbing and cleaning as if her life depended on his removing all traces of dirt and grime - which, in some symbolic sense, he suspected it did.   
  
Indeed, the moment they'd finished the arduous task, their companion's fever had broken, leaving all concerned exhausted, but relieved and amazed in equal measure. Teah and Ororo seemed to be the most surprised at the ex-assassin's stubborn refusal to consent to death, and had marvelled long and loud at her steady recovery as the hours turned into days and the days flashed by. Truly, as Ororo seemed wont to say, the gods had favoured Rogue this day, for nobody in living history had *ever* recovered from Shaking Sickness via their own power, and without considerably more aid from a healer than Teah was able to give.  
  
_But that's Rogue for you. Stubborn as a mule, and twice as grouchy. I kept telling them she wasn't the type of person to just lie down and die without a fight, no matter how high the odds are stacked against her. It's how she's survived so long in her situation. And I was right. Though I like to think Kätzchen and myself had something to do with it, too._  
  
The rejoicing at Rogue's continued survival, however, had been tempered by the fact that her forced-slumber still remained. She'd stayed in her unconscious state even after the Shaking Sickness miraculously left her, trapped in the mental prison of her own making, as Teah put it. The healer had begun to worry that she'd never rouse, until tonight when, out of the blue and with no prior warning, Underling Dukes had come to her with the startling news that Rogue was coming to at last.   
  
So that was how this motley crew had come to be here now, clustered around the plain bed as far as space and breathing room would allow. Naturally, Ororo and Teah were foremost, with Kurt and Kitty close behind. Jean and Jubilee remained in the background, hovering around and watching proceedings from a distance. Both Underlings Fred and Tabby had been sent off on respective tasks to 'keep them occupied' as Ororo put it, or 'get them out from under my feet' as Teah preferred.   
  
The last sliver of sunlight peeked over the horizon, lighting the room with a ruddy glow. Teah rose with a grunt and retrieved a torch from the wall. She cursed under her breath as she fumbled with a flint from her desk, until Jubilee stepped forward and lit it with a small, colourful blast from her fingertip. She seemed quite pleased at her own control, but said nothing. With a crackle the torch burst into life, casting a warm blush about the space and the anxious faces in it. Nobody looked up, and Teah returned to her place with a sigh.  
  
The vigil went on.  
  
Suddenly, Rogue began to shuffle. Her body trembled ever so slightly, and her lips parted to whisper something inaudible. Everyone craned his or her neck, hoping fervently it meant she was about to reawaken. Yet no further movement ensued, and gradually everyone fell back into the accustomed positions they'd assumed in the past few hours.  
  
All of them, that is, except for Jean. The redheaded girl remained alert, her face contorted into a mask of vague discomfort and pain. With a harsh intake of breath, she pressed her fingers to her temples, massaging the skin in a vain attempt to alleviate gathering tension.  
  
Kurt's head snapped around, hypersensitive ears twitching. "Are you all right, Frauline Rotkopf?"  
  
"Yeah," Jean replied, waving a dismissive hand at him.  
  
"Only, you look a little peaky -"  
  
"No, really, I'm fine. Just a bit woozy, is all," she assured. Looking up, however, she instantly met Ororo's reproving gaze. Something in the older woman's eyes made her squirm, and she found herself sheepishly admitting, "Well, actually, I'm, uh... feeling a disturbance. In the air, that is."  
  
"Disturbance?" Kitty swivelled to look.  
  
Jean explained. "A psychic disturbance. It's only faint, but it's growing. I can't sense yet where it's coming from, but it's... it's weird. Like... I don't know quite how to explain it. I keep getting flashes of things - pictures, sounds, smells. Very lucid, but very brief."  
  
"What sort of things?" Ororo asked, folding her hands into the sleeves of her robe.  
  
The acolyte closed her eyes, frowning slightly. "Burning. I can smell burning. And there's shouting, coming closer. Running. I can feel my feet pounding as I run, even though I know I'm really standing still. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go. Too many to face. Panic! Panic!"  
  
"Jean!" Ororo's commanding voice broke through her trance, and Jean's eyes snapped open with not a little relief.  
  
"Whoa, sorry about that. I guess I kinda got caught up in the Visions. They were so real; like they were actually, physically happening to me. I've never felt anything quite like *that* before. And, somehow, I got the distinct impression that they weren't being broadcast on purpose. Kind of like a subconscious relay of mental images. Except that I've seen mental images before, and there's never been anything quite so *vivid*..."  
  
"Could they be memories?" Teah chipped in, joining in the conversation for want of something better to do.  
  
Jean looked thoughtful. "I don't know. I suppose they could be, but they're very clear. Usually memories get hazy as the person they belong to gets older. There was nothing hazy about these flashes."  
  
"Is the disturbance still growing?" The healer's tone was speculative.  
  
"Yes. Why?"  
  
"Because of that." She indicated to the pillow, where Rogue's head was rocking from side to side again. She was murmuring, forehead puckered with lines, like she was concentrating very hard. "Do you think it could be connected? I may just be grasping at straws, here, but we have to explore every avenue."  
  
"I... I don't know. I *suppose* it could be possible," Jean conceded, "but it's difficult to tell. I don't want to telepathically reach out to Rogue because of the mental barriers she's set up. They're powerful enough to kill a person if approached the wrong way." She frowned, and rubbed the sides of her head again. "Ugh, these images are clearer than ever. I keep hearing individual words, but I don't understand what they mean. I... I feel the pain of the one broadcasting these things now. The mind is raw, like someone's reopened old emotional wounds as well as causing new ones. It's intense, I can tell you. I... urgh!"   
  
She swayed for a moment, gripping her skull in both hands. Jubilee, the closest, darted forward and propped her up with her arms, but the taller girl didn't acknowledge the gesture. She was too caught up in what her psyche was inadvertently receiving, and wavered from side to side like a drunken reprobate.   
  
"Alone. So alone. Everything... everyone gone. Running. Things... can see things. Such things... Scenery. Too fast, too fast. Can't make out anything. Where am I? Recognise... falling. I'm sorry... so sorry. Never told you... Pietro. I see darkness, and then..." She gasped, struggling for breath.  
  
Not knowing what else to do, Jubilee did as she would have done for any choking person and slapped the telepath on the back. Jean's eyes once again popped open instantaneously, only this time they were filled with unmistakable fear.  
  
"Jean, what did you see?" Ororo was at her side in a second, and guiding her back to her own chair next to the bed.  
  
"It was... it was horrible," Jean gulped, eyes so wide whites dwarfed the green. "I saw blood... so much blood. It was like a red river, and it was all running through my fingers. I couldn't stop it; it just kept coming, even when I tried to find the source so I could stem it. And the bodies. The bodies kept falling... over... the edge... help!" She struggled against the older woman's hold, fighting her way backwards and bumping into Jubilee in the process.  
  
"What the - " exclaimed the younger girl, stumbling into a grunt instead of a very bad word.  
  
"Jean, what is it?" Ororo asked, brows knitted with obvious alarm. Somehow that didn't comfort anyone else in the room. "What's wrong?"  
  
"I... I can't go any closer... the images... they get worse the... the closer I ... get. Oh, help me! *Help* *me*!" Jean clutched at her head, shaking it from side to side. Her pain-filled voice took on the manner of a frightened child, and she cried out for aid that none of the non-telepathic knew how to administer. "Make them go away. Please. They're too... too... Get out of my head! Leave me alone! You aren't *my* memories. Why are you inside my head? Get out! Get... *out*!"  
  
Ororo reached for her again, heedless of the flailing arms and capturing the distressed Jean in an embrace usually reserved for small children. "Shhh, shhh," she woman whispered. "Hush, Jean. Hush. It's all right, it's all right."  
  
Unnoticed to the others, a significant look passed between Kurt and Kitty. One memory, shared by both of them, had simultaneously recovered itself at something the telepath had unknowingly said. Kurt raised a questioning eyebrow, and Kitty nodded decisively.  
  
Kurt swivelled round on his perch. "Ororo, they're hers."   
  
The Temple Mother looked at him, arms full of a near-weeping Jean, trying fruitlessly to console her. "Pardon?"  
  
"The images Jean is seeing. They *have* to belong to Rogue."  
  
Ororo blinked in semi-confusion. "How can you be certain?" was all she asked.  
  
"Because of something that happened in Zanninsa," Kitty chimed in. "You remember we told you that we met Rogue's old mentor from The Guild of Assassins there?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, when he told her to go to Belvedere, he said she'd want to go because somebody called 'Pietro' is there. She said it was someone she, like, used to know from her days as an assassin, and since it's not exactly a common name, we reckon that the things Jean's picking up are Rogue's thoughts and memories."  
  
"It's possible," Ororo granted. A lock of white strayed across her face, and she turned to the juddering girl clutching so desperately at her. "Jean. Jean, I need you to listen to me. Can you hear me, child? Are you still there?"  
  
Jean sniffed. "Yes, I'm still here. But I keep seeing... keep seeing them. They won't go away."  
  
"That's good, Jean. It's important you can still sense those things. Child, I need you to focus on something for me. It'll help you to get rid of the images. Can you do that for me? Can you?"  
  
Jean turned her face to look up into Ororo's. "Anything," she murmured. "Anything to get rid of the blood in my head."  
  
Kurt recoiled. She sounded so desperate. _But she was absolutely fine a few minutes ago. How can this be happening so *fast*? There was no warning. Is it... could it be because Rogue's close to waking up?_ Then another, rather more unpleasant notion crossed his psyche, causing him to shiver. _If Rogue *does* wake up, will the images then leave Jean's mind alone?_  
  
"Jean," Ororo went on, gently stroking the crown of red in a soothing action, "reach out to the images; embrace them. Don't drive them away. Call to them. Let them know you can hear them."  
  
Green eyes went wide. "But they *hurt*," Jean whispered, sounding like nothing so much as a frightened infant. "They hurt so *much*. I... I don't know if I can. I don't know if I want to..."  
  
"Jean, the only way they'll leave is if you embrace them to yourself. Let the owner of them know she's not alone; that someone can hear her, and is willing to help. Touch them. Draw them out. Feel them as if they were your own memories, thoughts and dreams. Hold them to your mind as I'm holding you now. Do it, Jean. Help yourself by helping her." Ororo smiled encouragingly.  
  
Jean swallowed, throat bobbing uncertainly. Her mouth was dry, and her gullet constricted at the masochistic idea of actually inviting those terrible picture back into her head. Yet if that was the way to get rid of them... Ororo was wise. She always knew what to do in situations like this, didn't she? Perhaps... perhaps she should listen...?  
  
"All right."  
  
That strange, proud smile the Temple Mother reserved solely for her appeared, and Jean felt the familiar uplifting glow it incited. Maybe she *could* do this. If Ororo believed that she could, then maybe, just maybe, there was something to the idea of embracing that harsh, aggrieved mind one more time; a mind so filled with horrors and past austerity that they dwarfed all positive emotions to near-invisibility, burying them in a thick blanket of pain, loss and anger.   
  
A shiver ran the length of her spine, but she drew herself up to her full height and pushed away to stand on her own. With a perfunctory nod and a wince, Jean closed her eyes.  
  
Mentally, she called to the images she'd kept at bay, teasing them forward gently, reassuringly. They hovered at the edge of her telepathic mind, wary of her sudden change. She assured them she meant no harm, and that they could find a home in her if they wished. Still they wavered, unsure of her true intentions. Even without a conscious mind to guide them, they still retained the same aura of wariness that had kept their owner alive for so long.  
  
Jean showed them pictures from her own mind; warm memories of her past, intended to demonstrate that she was no threat and meant no harm.   
  
They peered forward nervously, yet with almost tangible interest at what she brought forth, and Jean could feel the wonder at seeing something so different then what they were used to. Growing up as a child in her village. Being tucked in at night by her mother, an affectionate kiss planted upon her forehead. Playing in the meadow with her friends, grass tickling her nose until she sneezed. The first berries of spring, tender-purple and juicy between her teeth. Her memories positively glowed with warmth and contentment, and she could feel the hovering presence creep forward despite itself.   
  
She continued with the assortment of memories, hoping to gain its trust enough to dissuade suspicion and welcome it in. A mixture of distrust and curiosity permeated her senses.   
  
And something else too.   
  
It was vague, but she sensed it all the same, and probed gently until it showed itself.   
  
Shock flooded through her. This couldn't be right, could it? If this really was the unconscious presence of The Rogue of The Guild of Assassins, then this kind of emotion was incongruous and out of place.   
  
Yet it remained; still and faint, but there nonetheless, mentally replying to Jean's happy memories and innocent childhood exploits. Could that really be... yearning?  
  
The presence crawled at a snail's pace, and Jean hailed it with proverbial open arms. Tentatively, it reached out for one of her recollections; the one of her first kiss, only a few months ago now, before her village was destroyed and her life changed. The memory of warm lips against Jean's own was pushed forward like an offering, and in a manner akin to a cat's paw in water, the presence touched it.  
  
All at once white-hot pain erupted in the telepath's skull. It blotted out everything, until all she was left with were a jumble of memories and half-remembered thoughts. Some were her own, some were not, and they whirled around inside her head like a jabbering maelstrom, pummelling her extra-sensitive psyche with images so torturous and streaked with red that she screamed as if her heart was being torn out whole.  
  
Jean was vaguely aware of hands clutching her shoulders, holding her up; but everything was so distorted it might have been a dream.  
  
Or a nightmare.  
  
Voices echoed inside her brain, reverberating and shouting back at themselves to make a cacophony of chaotic sound. Yet nothing could stop the pain from spreading.   
  
It was too much. She could feel herself fading, cracking under the intensity of bearing two sets of memories. Too much to bear. Too much. And it *hurt*. It hurt so *much* that she wanted to just sit down in a corner and cry.  
  
Desperately, Jean reached out for something - anything - to stop the agony. Her mental fingers caught hold, and she clung on with all her telepathic might, willing herself not to let go. Indistinctly, she felt surprise from that at which she clutched, brief and distant. However, soon it, too, was lost in the whirlwind of blinding, irrefutable pain.   
  
And then she was falling.  
  
*******************  
  
"Jean? *Jean*?" Jubilee called desperately. The older girl's weight was almost crushing her, but she struggled gamely to stay upright, always shouting her name.   
  
Jean slumped against her, oblivious to the world and everything in it, eyes closed as if in sudden sleep.  
  
Kurt dashed forward, catching the redhead as she began to tumble and wrapping his tail around her waist for extra support. Gently, the two of them lowered her body to the floor, and knelt by her side as suddenly harsh breathing ripped from her lungs and whimpering leaked from her mouth.   
  
This was so unlike Jean. Kurt had only been here a few days, but the older girl had always seemed so composed whenever he saw her - always the figure of calm authority in Ororo's absence. Sometimes she seemed anxious, but this was only in her attempts to please Ororo. Never had she exhibited anything even remotely like this behaviour, and, judging by the strained the look on Jubilee's face, she'd never done it before he arrived, either.  
  
"Jean? Oh, come on Jean. Wake up." The oriental girl gripped one of Jean's hands, holding it so tightly the blood was visibly cut off. "Ororo, was this supposed to happen? Was this part of your plan?"  
  
Kurt looked up, and for the first time he saw something briefly flash across Ororo's face he never would've imagined in a million years.   
  
She looked like she didn't know what to do. Confusion played about her eyes, before she schooled her face back into an expression of serenity once more, and bent down by her acolyte's side.   
  
Respectfully, Kurt and Jubilee edged away, getting to their feet and watching what went on from a distance.   
  
Kurt risked a glance over his shoulder. Rogue had become deathly still, and he fancied that her chest was no longer moving up and down. A knot manifested in the pit of his stomach, rising to form a strangled lump in his throat.  
  
"Kätzchen," he hissed.   
  
Kitty turned and gasped. "Oh no. Is she... is she breathing?"  
  
"Ich weiss nicht. I don't know."  
  
Teah barrelled through, all elbows and shoving hands. "Move out of the way, all of you!" she ordered tersely. "You're doing more harm than good by hanging around here. Go on, move!"  
  
Hastily, they moved aside for her, retiring to the back of the room so as not to be in the way of either crisis. The three younger adolescents huddled together, wondering silently what to do. They each felt helpless, though their feelings went unvoiced, and the room fell into an oppressive silence, as Teah checked Rogue's motionless form for life signs, and Jean's cries abated into harsh stillness.   
  
An overwhelming chill hung in the air, as everyone waited.   
  
For what?   
  
Nobody was quite sure, but they waited all the same. Waited for life? Waited for death? Waited for a return? Or perhaps a departure? All they could do was wait by the flickering light of the torch.  
  
Suddenly, Jean coughed. A groan escaped her lips and she tried to sit up. Ororo caught her as she swayed, rubbing her back in a comforting gesture.   
  
Hopeful, Kurt looked over to where Teah perched next to Rogue, but there was no change in the ex-assassin. She still lay, quiet and still, to all intents and purposes dead. Teah looked up, lips tightly pursed, and shook her head. The elf bit his tongue, and turned back to where Jean was struggling shakily to her feet.  
  
Green eyes surveyed the room, faint confusion clearly visible. Jean's brows creased, and she turned to look squarely at Ororo with an expression far too harsh for such a gentle and kind girl.  
  
"Where in all the Seven Hells am I?" she demanded weakly, voice watery but possessing a near-palpable strength of resolve.  
  
The voice was Jean's, but the infection was not. Kurt's eyes took on the appearance of two new moons as he recognised the familiar brusque tone.  
  
"Rogue?"  
  
All eyes fell upon him, and he squirmed a bit under their scrutiny.   
  
Jean gazed with blatant puzzlement showing through, shaking off Ororo's well-meaning hands. "Elf? What's goin' on? Where are we?"  
  
"Rogue... is that you?"  
  
"A' course it's me, y'addled fuzzball. Who else would it..." She trailed off, eyes falling upon the figure in the bed. "Oh gods!"   
  
Instantly, she brought her hands up in front of her face, staring at her palms - Jean's palms - in dismay. They were smooth, with just a hint of calluses here and there. Long and slender, they barely resembled her own pale ones, and she turned them this way and that, disbelief clearly evident in everything she did.  
  
"What's going on? Elf, what's happened to me? Why am I over here, and mah body's over *there*?"  
  
"Rogue, bitte, don't be alarmed." Kurt began, stepping forward.  
  
"Don't be alarmed, he says. Of course I'm frikkin' alarmed! It ain't every day you wake up to find outcha got a new damn body! What's happenin'? Where's the Shrimp?"  
  
"I'm here, Rogue." Kitty joined Kurt. "And Kurt's right. Try to calm down, and we'll explain things."  
  
"Calm down? You try calmin' down! Where am I? Who *are* all these people?"  
  
"Freunde. You have nothing to fear from them, Rogue," Kurt assured softly, voice soothing.  
  
Through Jean's eyes, Rogue glared back at him. "Who said anythin' about me being afraid of 'em? If they've done this to me, then I wanna take their damn heads off!"   
  
Kitty raised her hands, as Jubilee shrank back against the wall behind them. "Whoa, Rogue. These people, like, saved your life. I think there should be a little more display of gratitude here."  
  
"Saved mah life?" Green eyes narrowed in suspicion.  
  
"Frauline... how much do you remember?"  
  
The tall girl blinked, opened her mouth, and then shut it again. Her expression became thoughtful, and she rubbed a hand against her head, jerking it away as if stung when it touched red hair instead of auburn.  
  
"Last thing I remember was beddin' down in a tree near the river," she said at last. "Then I woke up to hear shoutin'. Y'all were gone, and I went to find out what the hell was goin' on. I found y'all, and I... I fought sumthin'. A creature... a creature in the river. A... Displacer Beast?" Her face turned quizzical, and both of her companions nodded vigorously.  
  
"Ja, Frauline. You saved our lives."  
  
"I did?"  
  
"Uh-huh, you, like, totally showed that Displacer Beast who was boss! It was totally amazing!"  
  
Rogue rubbed the temples of Jean's body. "I... kinda remember the battle. But after that, everything gets a bit fuzzy; like I was dreamin' or sumthin'. Next thing I know, I'm wakin' up here. Like *this*!" She gestured at herself, gaze swiftly becoming harsh. "Now, if it's not too much trouble, I'd appreciate some damn answers."  
  
"And you'll have them," Ororo put in smoothly.  
  
Her once-apprentice glared at her. "And just who might *you* be?"  
  
"My name is Ororo the White," the exotic woman replied, not in the slightest bit cowed by the hostile tone, "and you are The Rogue of The Guild of Assassins, are you not?"  
  
"So what if I am?"  
  
"Then I wish to welcome you to our humble temple." Ororo spread her arms wide as was the customary greeting. It demonstrated to people that you meant them no harm, since your chest was open at that moment, and an easy target should they choose to take advantage of it. "Although I would have preferred it if our first meeting were not under such... unusual circumstances."  
  
The serious lines framing Rogue's - no, Jean's - eyes declined a little at this. There was something intensely familiar about this strange woman, who would leave herself open to attack from one of the most notorious killers in all Earth-Realm without a second thought. Something just beyond her reach, but tantalizingly recognizable - like the last remnants of a dream.  
  
"This place is a temple?" she asked, stalling. "To which god?"  
  
"None in particular. We are a peaceful sect who devote our lives to caring for others and teaching them the path to enlightenment through returning to nature." The woman smiled, showing bright white teeth. "Perhaps you've heard of us in your travels? We are known as The Temple of The Way."  
  
A flash of recollection; part Rogue's, part something else. "Yeah, I've heard of y'all. But how did I *get* here? This place is pretty much cut off from everywhere from what I've heard."  
  
"Your friends carried you here when you were injured."  
  
"They did?" Rogue turned to them, incredulity momentarily taking the place of irk at the term 'friend.' "Why did y'all do sumthin' crazy like that? You woulda got a reward for takin' mah carcass to the authorities, y'know."  
  
Kurt looked horrified. "Do you really think us so base, Frauline? We owe you our lives. The least we could do was save yours."  
  
Rogue rubbed her temples again, slightly embarrassed and taking no pleasure in the unwelcome feeling. "But still I don't understand. I was injured?"  
  
Kitty's head bobbed up and down. "Rogue, you were poisoned by the Displacer Beast's spines," she said softly. "We... we didn't know if you were going to make it. But Kurt refused to give up. He carried you himself, and I held your armour, and we searched for help. Neither of us could go on much longer when we found this place. Jean guided us here - she's the owner of the body you're in now."  
  
Jean? The name sounded familiar, though she couldn't think why. Jean. Jean. Jean... Was that really the girl whose body she now inhabited? But how? And why?  
  
"That still doesn't answer mah original question, Shrimp," Rogue growled. "Why in all the Hells am I in *this* body instead of mah own?"  
  
The small blonde child on the bed hopped off and walked towards her in a purposeful manner. Rogue didn't like children at the best of times - not that this was anywhere approaching the best of times. They were too bright and cocky by half; and always, *always* too cheerful. They reminded her of things she'd rather forget about her own tough upbringing.   
  
She was surprised when this one spoke in a firm, all-too-adult voice, belying her immature body.  
  
"Look, I'll give it to you straight. When you first arrived at the temple you'd been poisoned. I'm the healer here, and I removed it from your system. However, afterwards it was discovered that you were also suffering from Shaking Sickness, which I couldn't heal because my energy reserves were too depleted."  
  
Rogue started. Shaking Sickness? She looked at the hands that weren't her own once more. Was that why she was now in someone else's body? She'd heard tales from the East of powerful mages who shared mortal shells with loved ones when their own bodies could no longer house their souls for one reason or another. But... she didn't know this 'Jean' person at all, and such occurrences required a union of souls to form a singular, new person. She was still quite herself, just in the wrong place.  
  
So where was Jean?  
  
Rogue shook her head to dispel these unwanted reflections, and strands of red hair brushed her cheek, making her lip quiver in disgust. All at once she didn't care who this Jean person was or why she was sharing her body. Rogue just wanted out and back into her own - *now*!  
  
"Did I die? Is that why mah body isn't mine anymore?"  
  
"Gods, no. You recovered well. It was quite amazing really. But you remained unconscious no matter what we did." The little girl's eyes flashed. "That is, until tonight. You showed the first signs of waking earlier this evening. Jean is a telepath, and she tried to help you, but something went wrong and you woke up in her body instead of your own." She folded her arms. "So now you know the how, but I'm at a loss to explain the why behind this." She curled her own lip in such a way as indicated she liked telepathy as much as Rogue liked children.   
  
Rogue blinked, information seeping into her brain, though much of it she didn't understand.   
  
_Telepath? Is she a Changeling then? Who is this kid? I recovered from *Shaking Sickness* without a healer? How the heck did I do that? It's impossible - _  
  
Kurt cleared his throat. "Is there any way we can change them back?"  
  
"That depends. We don't even know if Jean is *in* there or not anymore. She may have been just blinked out of existence when your friend here took her place."  
  
An oriental girl in the corner emitted a strangled gasp. "Oh no! Poor Jean!"  
  
Something tugged at the fringes of Rogue's mind; something quite insistent that refused to go away no matter how much she tried to ignore it. It was a strange sensation, almost like hearing a quiet person call from far away.   
  
She closed her eyes for a moment, focussing on it. For some inexplicable reason, she sensed that it was important, and scrunched up her face in concentration.  
  
"Rogue, are you okay?"  
  
"She's still here."  
  
"What?" The Shrimp's voice was puzzled, and Rogue opened her eyes.  
  
"The real owner of this body. This 'Jean' y'all keep talking about. She's still here. I can feel her - inside mah head."  
  
At once the blonde healer became stern, stepping forward and reaching to take one of Rogue's hands in her own. Rogue yanked it away, but the child seemed not to notice the unreceptive action, and babbled on regardless.   
  
"In that case, it's imperative that we return you to your rightful forms as soon as possible. With Jean's telepathic abilities, it may just be possible. Can you talk to her?"  
  
"Nah. It's more of a feelin'. I can sense her more than hear her."  
  
"Try to sense her, then. Call her with your mind. She'll know what to do if she's got any intelligence."  
  
Rogue cast a sceptical look around her. _Call her with mah *mind*? Just what kind of a dumb-ass order is that?_  
  
Her gaze abruptly fell upon the Elf and the Shrimp. Their eyes were pleading, matching each other perfectly in their silent request for her to just do what she was told without her usual brusqueness and penchant for violence. Gold and blue stared at her, willing her for once in her life to listen to someone else.   
  
Something unidentifiable stirred within her heart at their incongruous concern. She was The Rogue. They were supposed to fear and hate her, not care for her well-being. That wasn't the way things were supposed to be.  
  
The healer tapped her foot, impatient. "Well? Hurry up. We haven't much time. I'm guessing Jean's hold isn't very strong, since she has no actual body to attach herself to."  
  
Rogue curled her lip in a snarl, but let the urge to rip out the healer's throat slide. Instead, grumpy resignation took its place.  
  
_Then again, when have I ever been one to do things by the book?_  
  
She closed her eyes and thought of the telepath's name. She didn't know if it was the right thing to do or not, but did it all the same, thinking as loudly as she could.  
  
_Jean? Jean, are y'all there? Jean, come here. Come here now, damnit! Your friends out here wantcha back, and I wanna go back to mah own body. Jean, come here, damn you!_  
  
On the outside everybody waited.   
  
At first there was no discernable change to Jean's body. It simply stood there, eyelids firmly shut, brooking no visitors. It was impossible to tell just who was in residence, and Kurt's sharp sight traced the faint blue veins pulsing against her skin as he searched for some sign of what was going on.   
  
Everyone gathered in the room held a collective breath, lungs bursting, but refusing to let it go lest something happen and they miss it on the exhale.  
  
Suddenly, the girl's left hand twitched. It clenched into a fist, fingernails digging into the palm and leaving small, half-moon shaped marks in the skin. All of them craned their necks, waiting for another screaming outburst like the one that had signified the switch earlier, but nothing of the sort came to pass, and all they were left with was an eerie silence and almost palpable sense of anti-climax.  
  
For a long moment nothing happened. Then, the face scrunched once, and the harsh wrinkles of Rogue's ill-concealed frown immediately evened out, like someone trying on a set of clothing, and smoothing out the creases to their liking. A small sigh escaped the lips, and gentle green eyes slowly opened.  
  
A smile tweaked the corners of her mouth. "I'm back."  
  
"Jean!" Jubilee fairly launched herself at the older girl, catching her in an embrace that simultaneously cut off her windpipe and sent her staggering backwards.   
  
"Jubilee, I didn't know you cared," Jean choked, not unkindly.   
  
"Of course I cared, idiot. You're my friend. I thought you were gone forever!"  
  
"So did I." A wry expression twisted Jean's pretty face. "Remind me never to do anything like that again."  
  
"Are you all right, my child?" Ororo gently prized the over-excited adolescent off and faced her acolyte.  
  
Jean rubbed the back of her head. "Yeah. That was definitely an... interesting experience, and not one I'd care to repeat. You can tell your friend, The Rogue, that her mental voice is very, *very* loud!" This last comment was directed at Kurt and Kitty. However Jean's face changed into a mask of bemusement, because the pair were suddenly not there.  
  
A quick glance revealed them on either side of The Rogue's bed, each holding a pale hand clutched in their own. The ex-assassin was as still and silent as the grave, not even a flicker of life crossing her eyelids.  
  
Jean walked towards them. "But I helped her to get back. I *know* she's returned to her own body. I *put* her there and helped her to take down the mental barriers from the inside. She should be waking up just like me."  
  
Neither Kitty nor Kurt looked up. Their gazes were both fixed intently on their companion's face, the dying hope on their own tragically apparent.  
  
"Rogue, please wake up. *Please*." Kitty's voice hitched in her gullet, and she tenderly stroked the other girl's hand like it was a lost and frightened animal.  
  
Kurt stared at her through serious golden eyes, an angry whisper slipping off his tongue. "You have to come back to us, Rogue. You have to come back." He blinked back tears, the fur beneath his eyes dampening. "I'll never forgive you if you don't. You *have* to come back to us."  
  
Somewhere, in the deep recesses of a place unknown, yet startlingly familiar, his call was heard.   
  
And heeded.  
  
*******************  
  
"You got real talent, Marie, and the potential to go far in the Guild. But it ain't gonna happen if ya don't stop closing up your ears and start listening to me when I'm trying to teach ya stuff. I know for a fact that ya could beat any other pupil in the entire Guild, but it ain't good enough. Until ya got the right attitude, ya might as well be some penny-per-dozen rent-a-blade. A *mercenary*!"   
  
Logan's face, sneering through the all-encompassing darkness. Shafts of metal snake back into his fist, and then I'm running.   
  
Running.  
  
I'm always running.  
  
"You know Emilios. Unless I'm beating you, he isn't interested in any progress I've made. Sometimes I think he'll be dissatisfied with me until I put you six feet under. This rivalry with Logan can be a real drag."  
  
Pietro? How can you be here? And so young. A little boy, scuffing his feet on the ground and looking furtively at me. He's ashamed of what he's saying. He's ashamed of what his mentor makes him do.  
  
Pietro. I forgive you. I know you don't really feel that way.   
  
Now he's older, craning his neck out over the edge of the cliff. I can see him. Sea-spray cuts my face. I can smell the salt. Down here! I'm down here! Please don't leave me here to die like this! Pietro! Pietro!  
  
"Take my hand! It's the only way, Marie!"  
  
"I'll fall!"  
  
"No, you won't! I won't let you! Trust me."  
  
I do trust you - I do! Please help me. Don't leave me alone like this.   
  
Older still, and with a sword of his own. He looks so sad. But all I can feel is bitterness and anger.   
  
He's leaving me. After all we've been through together - all the private training, all the comforting each other; nights alone in my chambers, hiding you from Emilios' wrath. I remember. But it all means nothing to you. You're leaving me anyway. Leaving me all alone.  
  
"You're gonna go anyway, no matter what I say. So just go now, and spare me your insincere goodbyes. I don't wanna here them!"  
  
White hair, and sad, sad blue eyes. I've hurt him. I can see it. And my words hurt me too. I don't want you to go, Pietro. I want you to stay - to *stay* here with me! I want you to know how I feel, but I just can't get the words out.  
  
"Marie, I'd never leave you. This Erik may be my father, but I'd never put anyone above you. Never! I... I care too much to do that to you."  
  
You care about me? Surprise. Shock. I don't know what to feel. You *care* about me? I want to tell you the same, but my mouth won't make the words.  
  
Warm lips on mine. The smell of sawdust in my nose. And his smell. The faint scent of flowers. Strange. The Guild doesn't have many flowers, but you always smell of them, all year round. New life. Your life. My life. Our lives.  
  
"I'll come back."  
  
Another face, old and sneering through his beard. The smell of incense. It's overpowering in here. A fire crackles in the grate, but it offers no comfort. I still feel cold because of what Maxor's telling me to do.  
  
"Logan the Swift has been sticking his Wolverinnen nose where it's not wanted. He's somehow got hold of information that may effectively collapse the delicate situation with our... benefactor, if it ever got out. And I *know* that he means for it to get out."  
  
Logan. They want me to kill Logan. They want me to betray someone I love for their own personal gain.  
  
Shining... sword-blade... a precious metal... dangerous... 'politics'... something about silver... silver... silver...  
  
Silver Sword!  
  
"Don't you know what'll happen if you ally The Guild of Assassins with The Silver Sword? We'll lose our identity. He'll crush us out of existence and put us to work in his armies and mines. Is that what you want?"  
  
  
  
And then I'm running again. I'm always running. Always.  
  
"You are *outcast*."  
  
Someone chasing me. Hot on my heels. The smell of salt again. I know where I am. Just a little bit further. Just a little bit...  
  
Blood. Fight. Hurt. Parry. Thrust. Strike. Stab. Cleave. Scream. Bodies. Corpses. Shouting. Baying for blood. For *my* blood.   
  
Come and get me then, Pebehocks! Let's see what you're made of!  
  
Pietro. I'm sorry. I never told you that I love you. I could never say the words. I only wish I could see you again, to tell you what I feel. But I can't. It's too late for me. I'm nothing now. Just a scrap on the wind. An outcast. A Rogue.  
  
"Sorry boys, but I choose mah own path!"  
  
Falling. Falling. Down, down, down. Shouting behind me, but I don't care. I've cheated them. Cheated them out of their prize. I smile.  
  
Pietro, I'm sorry.  
  
Then blackness, and swirling pain I can't escape. I'm battered from side to side, washed away by the fate of my own choosing. The path that I walk for myself.   
  
So much pain.  
  
"Rogue. Please wake up. *Please*."   
  
Who's that? Someone calling me? A girl. She sounds so sad. Who would be sad for me? I'm nothing. Nobody. The only ones who ever cared for me are gone.  
  
"You have to come back to us, Rogue."  
  
Someone else too. Male. He's crying. Crying... for me?   
  
"You have to come back."  
  
Come back?   
  
Yes.   
  
I want to come back. I want to go back to the light. I don't want to be in the darkness anymore. I've found my answers in the darkness, just like Mystique and The Powers That Be said I would. I remember. I remember everything I wanted to forget. I'm ready to go back.  
  
"You *have* to come back to us."  
  
I'm ready now. I remember. The Guild of Assassins. The Combat Arena. The cliff-top. Training. Being cast out. Emilios. Maxor. Logan. Pietro  
  
  
  
Pietro.  
  
I'll find you again, I promise.  
  
I'm sorry.  
  
And I love you.  
  
*******************  
  
Rogue sat bolt upright, a scream hovering on her lips. Her hands were tied. She couldn't get them loose. Desperately she struggled against the bonds that imprisoned her.  
  
"Frauline! Rogue! It's us!"  
  
"Rogue, stop it. Please!"  
  
The Elf? And the Shrimp? They were holding her hands, concern and worry etched into their oh-so-different faces. She could feel the soft fur of one, and the cold clamminess of the other.  
  
The aftermath of the flood of memories washed over her, taking her breath away with its intensity, so that she flopped back into the damp embrace of the bed she now found herself in. Sweat slicked her entire body; a cold sheen that made her stick to the sheets and their skin alike.  
  
"Frauline, are you all right?" Golden eyes, so filled with worry, stared down at her, closely followed by a pair of equally worried blue.  
  
Blue eyes.  
  
At once a long-forgotten image filled her battered mind; that of a small boy, wan face framed by snowy hair, two sapphires blazing out at her. Were it not for them then he would have appeared dead, he was so pale; but his eyes possessed a spark all of their own. A spark she'd pushed away for so long because it was too painful to remember; too painful to recall what she'd lost; what she'd left behind.  
  
Suddenly it was too much. An incongruous desire to share her pain brimmed inside Rogue, as she gazed up into the two faces that had cared for her and showed her compassion despite her identity and detestable behaviour. She'd shown them revulsion, and they'd replied by saving her life. She'd insulted them, and they'd given her kind words. She'd threatened them, and they'd just kept coming back, refusing to leave her alone.  
  
Alone.  
  
So terribly, terribly alone.  
  
Was that it? Was she lonely?  
  
How absurd. Assassins didn't get lonely.   
  
But she wasn't an assassin. Not anymore. And she *was* lonely.  
  
She looked up at them, at their young, anxious faces. They didn't care what she'd done or what she was. They only cared about *her* as a person. That was something only two people had ever done in her life before.   
  
The Shrimp - no, Kitty - was drawn and pale, many sleepless nights plain to be seen. The Elf - no, Kurt - he was... he was *crying*? He was crying... for her?   
  
Emotion brimmed inside Rogue's heart, pounding against the wall of stoic indifference she'd cultivated for so long.   
  
Her ice-queen exterior cracked.  
  
_No more secrets. No more lies._  
  
A weak croak lilted from her underused throat, and both Kurt and Kitty leaned closer to hear what she said.  
  
"There's... some things... I need... to tell y'all..."  
  
*******************  
  
To Be Continued...  
  
******************* 


	18. Prophecy Revealed

DISCLAIMER: X-Men: Evo belongs to Warner Bros. And Marvel Comics. I have never, and shall never own them, no matter how much I may want to. I've simply warped them to fit my own twisted mind. However, this fic and any original work herein is officially mine, and anyone trying to steal it will find out how painful a weapon a computer mouse can when used by someone with imagination.  
  
WARNINGS: This is an AU (Alternative Universe) fic. Everything has been transplanted into a fantasy universe of my creation. Inspirations, despite what you might initially think, aren't actually from a certain Peter-Jackson-esque film project, since I started work on this before I ever *saw* those movies. Influences rather include InterNutter's spiffy fic 'Mein Teuful' (if you haven't yet read this then go do it *now*!) and various other sources I'll explain later.  
  
CODES:   
  
Hello = Narration  
  
_Hello_ = Thought  
  
"Hello" = Character Speaking  
  
*Hello* = Bold  
  
//Hello// = Psychic communication   
  
A/N ~ Many thanks to UnknownSource, Cheesy Monkey, Ezrajade, Greer/Harry Wriggle, Klutz, Quill of Molliemon, ChaosCat, Ashika, Marian, Silver Warrior, AerinBrown, Creedman and Mag for reviewing last time. What can I say? I got sidetracked by other projects. Plus, there's that pesky degree that keeps getting in the way of more important things, like fanfic. Anyway, apologies for not updating for so long. I hope this chapter makes up for the wait, since it's pretty much a nexus for the whole plot. This is the chapter on which the rest of the fic hinges, so pay attention. Please return your seats to their upright position, buckle your safety belts, and don't forget to review on your way out. Thank you for flying Scribbler Airlines. Have a nice day, now.  
  
*******************  
  
'Of Beast and Blade' By Scribbler  
  
Chapter Sixteen ~ 'Prophecy Revealed'  
  
*******************  
  
'It is a mistake to try to look too far ahead. The chain of destiny can only be grasped one link at a time.' -- Sir Winston Churchill   
  
*******************  
  
The Silver Sword peered intently into his Seeing Portal. To the untrained eye it would have seemed no more than a battered old mirror, edged in faded gold leaf with a multi-forked crack running its length. Yet, to him, it was his eyes, ears and sometimes even his voice beyond Belvedere. Through it, he could see any part of Earth-Realm he desired, provided it wasn't protected by magick that he could not breach.  
  
A growl escaped his throat.  
  
The Temple of The Way was concealed by powerful magicks. Perhaps not as strong as his own, true, but certainly potent enough to render him blind when scrying for it.  
  
He turned away, cloak scraping the floor in a magnificent swish. He had an idea of the location, but other than that he knew precious little about that wretched place, other than it posed a very real danger to him and his plans. One didn't have to be a sorcerer to see that much.  
  
His army had been dispatched three days ago, and in the interim he'd received word that Emilios and his band were nearing their target. A swift message to the assassin had told him all he needed to know about the state his prey was in, and he was only too eager to aid The Silver Sword in destroying The Rogue's two companions in addition to her. Emilios generally liked showing his gratitude to the sorcerer who'd enhanced him. That this instance involved copious bloodshed was an extra bonus.  
  
The Silver Sword paused for a second, wondering if it would be better just to let the assassins take care of things on their own. Though he was often loath to admit it, they were much more efficient than his own troops, and had the benefit of experience in this sort of thing on their side. What contingent of the Silver Army was still at Belvedere were mainly conscripted males with little fighting knowledge beyond childhood tussles over females. However, he'd been pushed for time and forced to resort to them, since the majority of his forces were extending his reach into far flung lands. Still, he'd sent along a few Changelings of his own, just in case. It didn't pay to take anything for granted.  
  
He shook the errant thought away. His army was under strict instructions to simply do as much damage to the temple, and kill as many inhabitants, as they could. Hopefully, their efforts would cripple the infernal place, making the residents easy targets for a later by more proficient troops.  
  
A sneer crawled across his lip. The Temple Mother would be easy pickings then; so preoccupied with gathering together survivor. He was certain she'd let her defences slide at that most vulnerable instant. She had to. He'd spent so much time investigating her, learning of her and her past, that he didn't even entertain the thought that she could do anything different. That would be the time for him to strike.   
  
The sneer turned into a horrible smirk at the prospect of having the great Ororo the White completely at his mercy. After all, it wasn't every man who could claim to have taken on...  
  
The door across the room banged open. A slave hurried in, falling respectfully to his knees near the entrance.  
  
"Oh great and masterful lord," he respectfully began, but the Silver Sword cut him off with a roar.  
  
"How dare you enter my private chambers uninvited? Even those of high rank fear to approach this place unsolicited. Is your brain too addled to heed their actions, or do you think yourself better than them? I should slay you now for your sheer insolence."  
  
The slave covered his head in panic. "Please, sir, I only bring a message from the Menagerie Keeper. I ain't meaning no disrespect, sir. Honest, I ain't. You are my sun, my light, my deepest darkness. You're my everything, from when I wake to when I fall asleep at night - "  
  
"A message from Gerris?" The Silver Sword's tone turned puzzled. "He dares interrupt me for a second time? What is this message, boy? Speak quickly, or I shall burn out your tongue and keep it as a memento."  
  
The effect was electric, if not particularly favourable. "H-he says… he says…"   
  
The Silver Sword's hand strayed to the pouch at his belt, which everyone knew contained his magic crystals and powders. Many were the times he'd created spectacular explosions with its contents. Those in the sculleries still talked of the 'Belly of Worms' incident, whereby one of their number had run afoul of him and choked to death on a mouthful of maggots that crawled up from her stomach.   
  
The slave gabbled what he'd been told as fast as he could, words tripping over each other in his haste to get them out. "He… he said to tell you that she - The Rogue, that is - I mean… His bird, the raven told him that, well… she's awake, sir. Came to in the past few hours and getting stronger with every one. He thinks she'll be on the move soon, sir." He cowered in fear of retribution for the news. It didn't matter to the Silver Sword that he was only a messenger. Slaves had been murdered in this gods-forsaken fortress for much less.  
  
Yet, the expected strike didn't come. When he finally risked a wary glance, the slave saw the tyrant in quiet contemplation, stroking his chin with one hand.  
  
"Awake?" he murmured reflectively. "Ach, I should've known she wouldn't fall so easily. He *did* tell me she was made of sterner stuff, after all, and he should know her best. It seems I misjudged his judgment on this matter…" A slight chuckle sounded deep in his throat. "Well, well, Rogue. It would seem you still have some fight left in you. A pity. I know what your plans are, and I can assure you, they shall never reach fruition. You shall not be allowed to breach my fortress and fulfil the prophecy. A man makes his own destiny, and you do not feature in mine."  
  
Abruptly, he snapped to attention and strode out of the room, stepping over the quivering body in the process. The filthy youth shielded his face from any strike that may still be made against him. The Silver Sword was unpredictable in all but his cruelty, and just because he hadn't made a move yet didn't mean he wasn't going to.   
  
Nonetheless, the older man seemed unaware there was anyone in the chamber save for himself, and paid the slave as much heed as that accorded. In fact, with a muttered word and a wave of one gauntlet-covered hand, all the candles in the room were doused, and he made to close the door behind him as he left.  
  
_Perhaps he ain't so mad about Master Gerris' message. Perhaps I'm safe after all…_  
  
The Silver Sword paused in the doorway, no more than a silhouette against the torchlight. His head swivelled until just his eyes blazed through the gathering darkness like two cruel sapphires, harsh and unforgiving.  
  
The boy barely had time to look up before he burst into flames. His body contorted sickeningly, as he was literally eaten from the inside out by the hungry, flickering tongues of fire. Within second he had vanished inside the inferno, which, somehow never seemed to touch the expensive carpets, nor singe the sumptuous wall hangings.   
  
Quickly as it had come, the blaze vanished, leaving behind only a small pile of glowing ash. There was not even so much as a vague scorch mark anywhere.  
  
"I don't like bad news."  
  
*******************  
  
Kurt sat in the leafy branches of his favoured Oak, feigning sleep. He was wedged into the crook of a branch in such a way as nobody but he would ever consider comfortable. A moth fluttered past. Absently, he swatted at it.  
  
"So you're not asleep then?"  
  
The question caught him off-guard, and he grunted in confusion as he opened his eyes. Peering down, he could see nobody around, which only served to further increase his bewilderment.  
  
"Wo… who's there?" he called blearily, half-entered sleep making him sluggish. "Who said that?"  
  
"Up here." The voice came again, and Kurt obligingly craned his neck to stare into a pair of dancing brown eyes. Jubilee smiled down at him from her lofty perch. "Hi."  
  
"Guten Tag, Fraulein." He closed his eyes again. He really didn't want to talk right now.  
  
The oriental girl swung her legs to and fro, kicking the empty air. "They're looking for you, y'know."  
  
A grunt.   
  
"They're pretty worried."  
  
She wasn't going away. Kurt shifted irritably and indulged her with a word. "They?"  
  
"The others. The Temple Mother, Jean, Kitty. They evened called Sam from the stables - "  
  
"Sam." A hint of derision crept into Kurt's voice. "Let them look for me. I need some time to myself."  
  
Jubilee cocked her head. "Kitty seemed especially bothered about you. When you just Bamfed out like that you gave everyone a big 'ol scare. Good job Rogue was asleep, or she might have done something violent, which I can't see Teah receiving very well."  
  
Another grunt.  
  
"Don't you even care?"  
  
"About what?"  
  
"About Kitty. She's been looking for you absolutely *everywhere*."  
  
"She's got Sam to help her. I just needed some time *alone*." He emphasized the last word, trying to make her see its significance.   
  
Jubilee, however, ostensibly had skin thicker than the fabled elephants of the East. She didn't take the hint. She didn't even acknowledge the hint. Instead, she lowered herself carefully onto another branch and looked down at him.   
  
Kurt could feel her eyes on his cheek, so he turned away. They bored into the back of his skull instead, and his tail swished almost petulantly.  
  
"Kurt, what's the matter? This isn't like you."  
  
"You know me so well as to say something like that? Nothing's the matter," he said tersely, but his tail negated the comment. The thing had a life of its own, sometimes.  
  
Jubilee snorted. "Yeah, right."  
  
Kurt slitted an eye open. "You aren't going to leave me alone, are you?"  
  
"Nope. At least, not until you answer my question." She leaned forward. "So what's up?"  
  
He made an exasperated noise. "I told you – nothing."  
  
"Uh-huh, sure. Don't give me that. I *know* something's the matter, so just tell me. It'll be much easier than the alternative."  
  
"Do I really want to know what the alternative is?"  
  
She considered the question for a moment. "Uh, no. No, I don't think you do."  
  
"Thought so." Kurt sighed, and it seemed to come from the soles of his feet. "I just needed some thinking time. On my own. Emphasis on the last part."  
  
"What did you want to think about?"  
  
"Nothing, really - "  
  
"Kurt. We've done this part. Please don't insult me by trying it again."  
  
"Just… stuff," he conceded.  
  
"Rogue?"  
  
A long pause; then, "Ja."  
  
Jubilee's voice became uncharacteristically serious. "She's had a pretty rough time - "  
  
"Nein." Kurt interrupted. "She's had a *very* rough *life*. I never realised what being an assassin was like. All the stories make it sound so… so…"  
  
"Dishonourable?"   
  
"Glorious," he corrected. He unfolded his arms, staring at the tips of his fingers as the flexed in and out of his palms. "Think about it. The Guild of Assassins is so secretive that people have always fabricated what it's like to be member. Nobody ever survived long enough outside to spread the word about what life is really like in there. It's all hard work and difficult choices, just like the rest of the world. There's no such thing as loyalty, only obedience. The moment you start to care about people – your comrades-at-arms, your family – you're told to turn against them. And if you don't, you're cast out and someone else does the job instead." He shook his head. "Logan was like Rogue's *father*, and she was ordered to kill him. I know what it's like to lose a parent, but if I was told by a higher power to kill my mother… I don't think I could do it. In fact, no 'think' about it. I couldn't. I wouldn't."  
  
Jubilee nodded, but said nothing. She could sense the empathy in his words and let him carry on venting them.  
  
"I know it was insensitive of me to just leave like that, but I really needed to sort my head out. You see, Fraulein, all the time I've been with Rogue on her journey, that's all she's really been to me. The Rogue. No matter what she said, somehow I always went back to thinking of her as just that. That was who she was – her identity. It was like I just couldn't bring myself to believe that she had a life before becoming outcast – what she must've done to people as an assassin appalled me so much I refused to think about it, and the only way I could really do that with her being so close by was to think of her like… like she was born when she was outcast. There was nothing before it, so far as I was concerned. So, to find out what she'd been through… I just felt so ashamed of myself. She gave up so much because of what she believed in, and I never even guessed *half* of it… I always used to pride myself on reading people's body language to see what kind of person they are. When I first saw Rogue I noticed that there was something odd about her. Her bearing was disjointed, like there was something raging about inside of her that couldn't be resolved, and the bonds that used to hold her emotions together weren't there anymore. Now I know what that was all about. Or rather, *who*." He shifted his weight slightly, mumbling something inaudible in Germanic. "Ach, I'm not making any sense, am I?"  
  
"Actually," Jubilee said softly, "you're making a lot of sense. But you shouldn't feel ashamed of yourself, Kurt. From what you've told me, Rogue wasn't exactly open with you. More the 'touch me and I'll ram this boot down your throat' than 'let's share life stories and sing songs around the campfire'."  
  
"Until today. She trusted Kätzchen and me enough to tell us her past. Technically, she's not supposed to do that. As The Rogue she doesn't have a past. Or a future, come to that. Only the present."  
  
"You were surprised that she'd break the rules again?"  
  
"Nein, I'm surprised that she trusts us. She's changed a lot since I first joined her on her expedition. Our first meeting wasn't exactly a friendly one. She was ready to gut me where I stood without a second thought. Now I find her opening her heart and telling me her deepest secrets. It's… it's surreal, to say the least."  
  
Jubilee nodded. "Keeping in mind that I'm speaking as an outsider who has a tendency to look to far into things, but I suppose it's because you and Kitty are the only ones who showed her the time of day since she was cast out of The Guild. She had to keep a low profile, so she couldn't exactly form many friendships as she travelled. The fact that you two cared about her as a person instead of a potential meal-ticket must have meant *something*, even to a prickly-pear like Rogue."  
  
"She *is* a person. A very noble, very loyal person. I never thought I'd say it, but if the situation called for it, I'd trust her with my *life*."  
  
"See?" Jubilee said, vaguely triumphant. "You *care* about her. I doubt anybody's done that since Logan and Pietro."  
  
"Yes… Pietro." Kurt spoke the name speculatively, turning it over in his mouth. A whole lot of things made more sense with that name suffixed to them. "Poor Rogue. To be separated in such a cruel manner from the one she loved."  
  
"Loves." Now it was Jubilee's turn to correct him. "He's still alive, remember. I thought that was the whole point behind this quest of hers – to find him again."  
  
"It is, but… it worries me a little."  
  
"What does?"  
  
"Getting Rogue's hopes up like this. Logan told us that Pietro is at Belvedere – The Silver Sword's *stronghold*. If he is alive, and the horror stories about that place are true, then I don't know if it's a good idea Rogue *does* find Pietro."   
  
"Shouldn't she be the one to decide that?" Jubilee said delicately.  
  
"I suppose. But I still worry about whether it's such a good idea. I don't want Rogue to get hurt any more than she already has."  
  
"Rogue's tough. By definition, she's resilient. Plus, there's always the possibility that this Pietro guy's fine, will be absolutely overjoyed to see Rogue again, and they'll ride off into the sunset in each other's arms."  
  
"I only wish it were that simple, Fraulein."  
  
"I know." She waved her hand dismissively. "However, I'm a hopeless romantic. If there's even the slightest chance of a happy ending then I'll root for that over everything else."  
  
Kurt smiled wanly. "I wish I were as positive as you. Ach, was ist mit mir falsch? What's happened to me lately? I used to be so optimistic, but recently I seem to have been on a near-permanent downer."  
  
"Perhaps you've just been growing up some. You say Rogue's not the person she used to be. Maybe meeting her and Kitty has changed you as well."  
  
He nodded, thoughtful, and took a moment to say anything else. "I don't think I like adulthood much."  
  
"Better get used to it. I hear it lasts the rest of your life."  
  
At this, he laughed.   
  
Jubilee smiled; glad to have elicited a more encouraging response from her new friend – and whatever he, or anyone else said, she already viewed him as that. Kitty, too, if she wanted. As a predominantly happy person, it pained Jubilee to see anyone else troubled. For that person to be Kurt – bubbly, joyful, cheerful Kurt – was even more worrisome. She'd only known him a short time, but already she knew enough about his character to realise that when he needed some 'thinking time' alone, then the situation was much more serious than he was letting on.  
  
She scrutinized him for a few seconds, and then broke the gathering silence by asking a blunt, fairly pert question. "Do you love her?"  
  
Kurt seemed puzzled - perhaps even vaguely embarrassed. "Who?"  
  
"Rogue."  
  
"What? Nein! She's my friend." He looked quite aghast at the suggestion. "Besides, she's still pining after Pietro. Rogue's already found her Geliebtes."  
  
"Someone being already taken doesn't stop the emotions of other people. Haven't you ever heard of unrequited love? Or are those sorts of fiction-scrolls beneath your reading tastes?"  
  
"Ja. I mean nein. I mean – look, I am not in love with Rogue." Kurt shook his head vehemently. "She's more like a sibling. Eine ältere Schwester, möglicherweise? Grouchy and often unfriendly, but loyal and true. Let me assure you, Jubilee; there is not, has never been, and will never be *any* semblance of romance between Fraulein Schlechtes Temper and myself. *Ever*."  
  
Another thought struck Jubilee as he said this, and it slipped out of her mouth before the sensible portion of her brain could hold it back. "What about Kitty?"  
  
"I - " Kurt stopped, alarm and discomfiture warring behind his eyes.   
  
Immediately, she regretted what she'd said, and the dismal expression she'd inadvertently caused with her trademark lack of tact.  
  
_Gods dammit! I promised I wouldn't mention anything. I even made Rahne promise not to breathe a word. 'Let things run their natural course' I said. Then I go and say something stupid like that? Stupid, stupid, *stupid*! Now I've embarrassed him. He probably hadn't even considered Kitty as a love interest after all, and I was just seeing things in The Great Hall. Wonderful, Jubes, just peachy. Open mouth, insert foot._  
  
Coming to the hasty conclusion that discretion was the better part of valour, she decided to swiftly change the subject. Casting about in the poor moonlight, she searched for something else to fix upon. However, any such things were keeping themselves remarkably well hidden tonight, because she couldn't think of anything, and fumbled around uselessly for something – anything – to say.  
  
Eventually she looked back down at the silent Kurt. He wasn't looking up at her, instead staring out into space with a decidedly pensive face. He was chewing his bottom lip with his fangs – something that made her shiver despite herself – and twirling a lock of indigo hair nervously around one thick finger. Focusing on him as she was, she abruptly noticed a slightly shorter patch of hair on his hand, little more than baby fluff, growing around a small, rounded recently-healed scar.  
  
"Where'd you get the scar?"   
  
Kurt twitched, as if startled from deep contemplation. "Was? Oh, this thing?" He held up his palm. "Long story."  
  
"Someone did a good job of fixing it up. Teah?"   
  
"Nein. It was…" He paused, distracted again. "It was Kätzchen."  
  
_Damn._ Jubilee's brow creased, and at once she was glad of the dusky gloom in which to hide her expression. She wondered just how well those incandescent eyes saw at night.  
  
Not that they were looking at her. Kurt was staring away again, obviously thinking hard about something.   
  
She watched him for a second. _Hey, maybe I wasn't wrong after all._ She half-hoped she'd been right. Despite the lack in tact, it would've vindicated a little of her faux pas with truth. However, before she could stop herself, she undid any would-be upbeat possibilities in seemingly record time. "You like her, don't you?"  
  
  
  
Kurt sighed, an unhappy edge to his voice. "Ja. She was one of the first people to treat me like a person and not like some… animal. Kätzchen saw the real me, despite my – how shall I say it? My distasteful appearance."  
  
"Why don't you tell her? I'm sure she'd be pleased to hear it. All girls like being paid compliments. I know I do."  
  
"I can't do that!" he exclaimed, appalled.   
  
"Why not? Can't say I'm seeing the problem with that one."  
  
"Well… I… That is to say…" he trailed off awkwardly.   
  
"You're too scared to, aren't you?"  
  
"Nein. Not *scared*, as such. It's just that… well… well, look at me!" He gestured wildly at himself, tail catching and tearing loose a few leaves as it whipped about.  
  
Jubilee cocked her head, black hair falling lazily over one almond shaped eye. "I *am* looking, Kurt. I'm looking very hard at you, and not just because I don't see so well in the dark."  
  
"Then you see why I can't tell Kätzchen about -"  
  
"Actually, no. What I see is a boy of about sixteen winters, who's brave and loyal to a fault, but is too frightened to tell a girl that he likes her. Quite sweet, really. Like a plot out of a romance fiction-scroll."  
  
"I'm not *frightened*!" Then his voice dropped to a more acceptable level, and his eyes darted about madly in case anyone else had borne witness to his little outburst. "I'm not frightened of telling her. I just… I don't think she feels the same way about me, is all."  
  
"Why the heck not?" Jubilee asked in surprise.  
  
"I just sometimes get the feeling that Kätzchen pities me a bit - because of how I look. You have to admit, I'm not exactly easy on the eyes. I wouldn't want her to say something she didn't mean simply because my appearance makes her feel obliged to. I'm not an emotional charity case. I have my pride."  
  
Jubilee couldn't find her voice; she was so shocked at what he was saying. Kitty? Kitty saying she liked him that way because of simple *pity*? It was so absurd, it was almost laughable, and she probably would have let loose a snort if he hadn't continued.  
  
"Kätzchen would be much happier with someone normal like Sam Guthrie, instead of a… a freaky little demon half-breed like me."  
  
"Normal? What's normal?" Jubilee muttered under her breath.  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
She sighed. "If you really think that, Kurt, then perhaps you don't know Kitty as well as you think you do."  
  
His eyebrows arched, and luminous eyes gazed at her through the gloom with a most peculiar light. In their depths shone a breathless hope, of the kind she'd read about but never seen. His voice was filled with affected nonchalance. "What do you mean, Fraulein?"   
  
Jubilee could have bitten back her ill-thought-out words there and then, and mused back on her conversation with Rahne. _It wouldn't be right for me to push it between these two,_ she surmised. _If Kitty *does* like Kurt the way Rahne reckons, then it's Kitty's place to tell him, not mine. If I say something out of place, and she's not ready to accept his feelings yet, then the two of them may lose their little slice of happiness and it'll all be my fault. I don't need that kind of guilt, and they don't need that kind of stress._  
  
"Never mind." She swung down onto Kurt's branch and lowered herself onto another before he had time to speak again.  
  
"Was? What's that supposed to mean? Fraulein? Jubilee? Why won't you tell me? Fraulein!"  
  
"Let's just say that I'd be acting like a hypocrite to someone if I let my tongue wag anymore," was the only cryptic answer she'd give. Then she turned her face skywards, back toward him. "Are you going to come back inside now? Have you had enough thinking time?"  
  
He gave her a dubious look, before grasping that she really was serious about not saying anything more. "I suppose." He heaved himself out of the niche with a sigh and a yawn. "And thanks, Jubilee. You can be noisy, tactless and incredibly exasperating at times, but thanks for coming to find me. I appreciate it."  
  
"Hey, I wasn't the only one looking. I just happened to be the one who chanced upon you. But you're welcome, I think," she added at his hurt expression. "Now let's get back inside the temple. It's getting cold out here, and I think Ororo wants to talk to you about something when Rogue wakes up."  
  
"Talk to me?" Kurt sounded perplexed as he leapt gratefully to a lower bough, making the rest of the tree shake upon landing. Jubilee shot him a murderous look.  
  
"Don't do that. I break easily. And she wants to talk to all three of you, Kitty included. Wouldn't say what about though. Must be pretty important for another private consultation."  
  
"Jawohl." Kurt bounded, nose pointing floorward, down the body of the Oak. His tail snaked behind him like some furry blue serpent, winding this way and that. "I wonder what she wants to say to us? It must be important for the middle of the night."  
  
Jubilee felt slightly nauseous at his death-defying acrobatics, but staidly climbed down at her own pace.   
  
Kurt waited for her at the bottom, spaded tail flicking impatiently among the exposed tree-roots. "Come on, come on, slowpoke," he 'encouraged'. "You were the one who wanted to go back inside."  
  
"Yes, and I'd prefer it if all my bones are intact when I do," she said, clutching desperately at a knothole whilst trying in vain to seem casual about it. It didn't work, and eventually gave up trying to look graceful in favour of just getting to the ground in one piece.  
  
Kurt made an exasperated noise, tapping one foot to add to the lively tail. "Ach, you're slower than an old woman. I've seen sludge move faster than you."  
  
"Then call me sludge."   
  
*******************  
  
Kitty sat perched on the end of Rogue's bed, nursing in both hands a bowl of hot broth that Underling Fred had brought. She blew gently on it, watching curls of steam sweep into the air and vanish.   
  
Rogue wasn't, at present, in said bed, but was near enough to speak to the younger girl without raising her voice.  
  
"It good?"  
  
"I don't know. It's too hot to try yet."  
  
Rogue made an indecipherable noise and went back to what she was doing.   
  
Kitty watched silently as the white slip, carelessly flung over the folding screen, disappeared from view. A few seconds later another, more irritated noise emerged.  
  
"Damn it all to the Seventh Hell! Isn't there *anything* else?"  
  
Teah marched past, a small grizzling baby in her arms. Its mother was currently indisposed in another section of the Infirmary, and so the child had been duly deposited on the young healer. Her expression told that she was not in the best of moods – she was a physician, not a babysitter!  
  
"No, there isn't. Now get back into bed, this instant. If I had my way you wouldn't be out of it at all, but you made such a fuss - " The infant mewled pitifully and Teah tutted. "Come out from behind there. And I mean right now, not tomorrow or next week. I haven't the time or patience to humour you."  
  
She padded off into another room in search of sustenance for her unintended charge, leaving Kitty alone.   
  
Kitty faced the screen, eyes wandering aimlessly. With a faint, inadvertent smile she replayed the confrontation between the two fierce females in her mind.   
  
She'd returned upon telepathic confirmation from Jean – who'd also received a stern reprimand for using her powers so soon after nearly losing her body – that Kurt had been found and was on his way back to the Infirmary, only to find Rogue and Teah at loggerheads the moment she walked in the door. Rogue had awoken in a more clear-headed state than last time, and was most disgruntled to discover that beneath the bed sheets she was as naked as the day she was born.  
  
"Shaking Sickness involves a fever!" Teah had told her, prior to the baby being dumped in her arms. "That's why you don't have any bedclothes on. You were too hot to wear them."  
  
"So gimmie mah *real* clothes," Rogue had demanded.   
  
"I can't. They were too filthy for words and absolutely crawling with germs. I had them burned as soon as I could."  
  
"*What*?" The anger on Rogue's face had been almost palpable.  
  
"They were a health hazard. This is a place for sick people. Do the math."  
  
"Why you little - " She'd been halfway out the bed for Teah's throat before Kitty could get to her.  
  
"Rogue, calm down, please," she'd begged, catching the older girl's arm and holding her back – not without some considerable effort. "You'll only make yourself sick again."  
  
Rogue had seemed surprised, and perhaps even a little alarmed at Kitty's sudden presence at her elbow, but allowed herself to be cajoled back between the sheets amidst much grumbling and moaning about 'damn kids' who 'couldn't mind their own damn business'.   
  
Whilst the grousing had been refreshingly familiar, Kitty couldn't help being surprised that Rogue had actually listened to her without biting her head off, let alone done what was asked. Yet more unusual behaviour to add to recent events.  
  
Of course, Rogue had instantly negated that by whipping round and telling Teah, in very unflattering terms, "You'd better have something else for me to wear then, 'cause I ain't wearing none of those damn pink *dresses* you got on. I'd rather go naked."  
  
"Initiate Ashari, please?"  
  
Teah had frowned, pursing her lips at Kitty's pleading expression. Then relented. "Tch, all right then. I'll see what I can do. But no more complaining, or you really *will* go butt naked, I can promise you *that*. A few hours awake in my Infirmary and already I want you out of here…"  
  
Thus Rogue had been handed some inscrutable white fabric and directed behind a nearby screen for modesty's sake when Underling Fred arrived.  
  
Kitty raised the wooden bowl to her lips and supped. The broth was thick and nourishing, and full of nutty inclusions. Just right when you'd been up and about for more hours than you could count on both hands. She inhaled the delectable scent, snorting slightly when the fumes tickled her nose.  
  
A tentative movement caught her eye. She looked up at the screen. "Rogue?"  
  
"I ain't coming out," stated the disembodied voice, with an 'and you can't make me' air.   
  
"Please Rogue?" Kitty wheedled. "Your broth's, like, getting cold."  
  
"I said no. It's demeaning! I won't do it."  
  
"*Please*, Rogue. Kurt's gonna be back soon, and Ororo wants to talk with *all* of us. I doubt she'd wanna, like, speak to someone she can't even see."  
  
A scuffling sound, like someone folding their arms.   
  
"Pretty please?"  
  
Rogue 'humphed'. "You laugh and you're dead."  
  
Kitty nodded, and then remembered the ex-assassin couldn't see her. "All right."  
  
A fumbling of white slunk around the edge of the folding canvas, head down and fists clenched tightly by her sides. Rogue was a picture in floaty white fabric, with a hem that barely passed mid-thigh, short sleeves edged in delicate lace and… were those *frills*?  
  
Kitty stifled a giggle at the incongruity of it all. Rogue's hair was mussed haphazardly into various greasy peaks and troughs, and her cheeks were coloured scarlet with both embarrassment and rage. She glared openly.  
  
"One peep and you're dead. Just one. I don't need no weapons…" She flexed her fingers demonstrably, and Kitty swallowed her sniggering with no small amount of haste.  
  
"It looks good on you," she offered, hopping off the bed and setting her bowl down on a neighbouring stand. With a quick flick of her wrists she'd turned the bed sheets down and gestured for Rogue to climb back in. The ex-assassin did so, grumbling all the way of course, but batted Kitty's hands away when she tried to tuck her in.  
  
"Get off. I can do it mahself!" she snarled, teeth all but completely bared.  
  
"Sorry. I was just trying to help," Kitty said by way of apology, holding up her hands in the universal gesture of defence.  
  
"Well I don't need no help. I can manage just fine on mah own."  
  
"A simple 'thank you' would've sufficed," she muttered.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"Nothing."   
  
"Good."  
  
Kitty shook her head and sighed. As much as Rogue's earlier emotional outburst had shaken and surprised her, it seemed that it had been just a fluke, and not some life-changing episode after all. The shock of being catapulted so violently back into her own body perhaps? Or some other such rational explanation. Certainly, the bad tempered girl didn't seem to remember the incident now, and was just as crabby and unapproachable as ever.  
  
_I still can't believe what she said. Even if she was delirious. Rogue in love? The concept's pretty unbelievable. Rogue fighting for what she believes in; that I can picture, but in love?_ Her head shook, brain rendering the information impossible despite her desire to think otherwise. Rogue was violent. Rogue was a strong fighter. Rogue had a will of iron. But Rogue most definitely did *not* fall in love.  
  
Did she?  
  
"Hey… Shrimp?"   
  
Mentally, Kitty sighed again. _Back to 'Shrimp' now. I suppose it was too much to hope for that she'd keep using my proper name._ "Yeah?"  
  
"Where *are* mah weapons, anyhow?"  
  
"Over there, in that chest." Kitty indicated to the other side of the room. "Safely locked away until you're ready to use them again."  
  
"Nobody touched them while I was out?" Rogue sounded faintly surprised.  
  
"Well, not exactly." Kitty scuffed her foot. "Kurt and I… well, we kinda cleaned them up a bit for you. We sorta hoped that if we did, you'd… wake up from the Shaking Sickness and see them." She gave a nervous laugh. "Dumb, huh?"  
  
There was silence for a second. "No it ain't," Rogue said softly – far softer than her usual demeanour would allow imagination to picture. "That sounds like something an assassin would do. 'Free the blade from that which taints it, and so release the soul trapped within.' An old Guild Proverb. But how did y'all know about that?"  
  
"I – we – didn't. We just kinda… hoped," Kitty finished lamely.   
  
Another uncomfortable silence stretched between them.   
  
"Thanks," Rogue said at last. "Guess I'm corrupting y'all, huh? Making y'all think like assassins instead of normal folk."  
  
"Normal? What's normal?" Kitty asked, unaware of the irony attached to her remark. "We just wanted to do something that might help you. Thinking like an assassin didn't even come into it."  
  
For a moment, neither of them spoke, as if considering what had been said.  
  
"Thanks." Rogue pulled herself up into a sitting position, propping her back against the pillow and letting the sheets pool about her waist. She seemed uncertain for a moment, and then added, "For everything."   
  
Kitty must have looked confused, because she then followed on with more words – quite a feat for the girl who supposedly disliked conversation so much.  
  
"I don't know if I dreamed it, 'cause I sure had some weird dreams while I was sick, but I know that you two did something for me. And believe it or not, it meant a lot. Otherwise I wouldn't have told y'all about…" She paused for a moment, uncertain. She chewed her lip thoughtfully before continuing, brushing over the revelation she'd spewed forth when she awoke. "I guess what I'm trying to say is… well… Damn it, you ever repeat this and I'll have your hide nailed to the wall. But thanks. For calling me back, I mean. Don't think I could've made it otherwise. So just… thanks. For everything."  
  
Kitty simply stared, and Rogue shifted uncomfortably beneath her solid gaze. She wasn't much at conversation, and she was even worse at thank-yous.   
  
_Damn stupid things, manners,_ she silently cursed. _All they were created for was to fill in uncomfortable silences, but all they do is create more of them. I'd like to get my hands on the Kaju who - _  
  
Her train of thought was abruptly interrupted when Kitty bowed her own head, the sudden movement startling her.  
  
"You're welcome," she murmured, half-hoping Rogue wouldn't hear her. It was a vain hope, however. Very little escaped the ex-assassin's sensitive hearing.  
  
Yet Rogue didn't mock her as she once would have been wont to do. Somehow, the jibes just wouldn't come. She was aware that this was the usual place where she would interject with some cutting comment or other, but she just couldn't. The words weren't there in her mind, and even if they had been, she somehow doubted she would have voiced them. She couldn't. Or perhaps, she didn't want to.  
  
_What in all Seven Hells is happening to me? Did they give me happy leaves while was out?_ She shook her head. _Nah, I'd have known if I'd been drugged. Must be going soft in mah old age, then._  
  
However, all further uncharacteristic behaviour was swiftly cut short by the thick wooden door to the Infirmary swinging open and crashing loudly against the opposite wall. Both girls jumped in shock, and Rogue involuntarily readied herself into a combat position that would allow her to spring from the bed and kick some heads.  
  
The stance wasn't needed, however, as through the doorway strolled a familiar figure followed by an even more familiar fuzzy blue one.  
  
"Panic over. I found him," Jubilee called out to anyone who'd listen. Catching sight of the duo, she grinned broadly. "Told you I would."  
  
Kitty felt a scowl begin to pull at her eyebrows, and quickly plastered a happy smile in its place – something Rogue's sharp eyes noted with surprise.  
  
Kurt waved at them, mirroring Jubilee's grin toothily. His nose twitched like a blue rabbit's as he scented the air, and golden eyes swiftly transferred to the steaming bowls of broth on the stand. He smacked his lips.  
  
"Nahrung! Wundervoll! Ich bin hungrig."  
  
"There's a bowl here for you, Kurt." Kitty picked it up and held it out for him.   
  
Kurt pouted slightly. "Only one?"  
  
"Shuddup and be grateful, fuzzy." Jubilee ruffled his hair affectionately, and it was all Kitty could do to keep her smile in place. "If I'm not mistaken, then that's Underling Fred's special broth. His own secret recipe, no less. It'll sit in your stomach for a week, believe you me. One bowl is *quite* enough for any person."  
  
"Jawohl, but I'm not just any person, am I?"  
  
"No, you're, like, a total bottomless pit," Kitty quipped, not willing to be outdone.  
  
"And proud of it," he shot back with ease. His eyes darted beyond her, dancing with some unfathomable light. He smiled in the direction of the bed's occupant. "Fraulein, you're awake."   
  
"Yeah," Rogue replied, monosyllabic. Her voice remained steadfastly deadpan, her bearing unaffected by his charm.   
  
"Wie gehen Sie fühlend? Uh, I mean, how are you feeling?"  
  
"Fine, considering." Peering out from beetles brows, she shot him a suspicious look. "Where exactly have *you* been, anyhow?"  
  
"Oh… around," he said furtively. He would give no further comment on the matter; though Rogue observed several furtive glances sent Kitty's way when he thought she wasn't looking. Several furtive, and… fearful glances?   
  
Rogue blinked. _Why would the Elf be afraid of Shrimp?_  
  
"Kätzchen, is that delicious-smelling stuff really for me, or are you pulling my tail?" Kurt's nostrils flared, drinking in the aroma like it was the elixir of life. The bowl *smelled* nourishing, and he filled his lungs with steam and scent.  
  
Kitty nodded. "It's for you. Underling Fred brought it up specially. Said something about you'd smell it a mile off if you were really hungry."  
  
"I am." A sudden, mischievous grin split his face. "Hey, Kätzchen, shall I show Fraulein Rogue my new trick?"  
  
Kitty paused, frowning. "What new trick?" she asked, struck by momentary stupidity. Once the moment had left, however, she could have smacked herself for her gaucheness – especially with Jubilee in the room.  
  
"*The* trick," Kurt said again, winking.   
  
Jubilee caught on instantly, her own sense of fun lending a hand in her comprehension of his meaning, and making Kitty feel doubly inept.  
  
"Yeah, Kitty-kat," she said jovially; using the nickname she'd created. "Let him show off. You know he's just *dying* to."  
  
_Keep smiling, Kitty; just keep smiling._ "You mean Bamf, right?"  
  
Rogue narrowed her eyes guardedly. "What's a 'Bamf'?" she demanded, turning the strange word over in her mouth and simultaneously wondering whether she actually wanted to know.  
  
If possible, Kurt's grin grew even wider, showing gums as well as teeth. "This," he said in a melodramatic tone. He promptly disappeared in a puff of sulphurous smoke and imploding light.  
  
Green eyes went wide, and Rogue's mouth dropped open. You could almost hear it clang as it hit the floor. She stared intently at the spot he'd so recently and so abruptly vacated. "What in the Seventh Hell….?"  
  
Almost immediately, Kurt reappeared next to Kitty. It would have been the perfect demonstration of his powers, had he not unfortunately emerged several feet above the floor. His vibrant flourish turning into a strangled squawk, as he came crashing down to earth with a loud bump and a very sore rear end.  
  
"Yowch!" His tail was squashed by his own falling weight, pushing a screech from his throat. He bounced to his feet, unceremoniously rubbing at the spot where it joined his spine. "Uh, I guess I still need to work on my re-entry." He pulled a face that elicited giggles from two of his audience.  
  
Not so the third.  
  
Rogue just stared, incredulity turning her face into a frozen mask of amazement. "What did you…? How did you *do* that?" she demanded, craning out of bed to see him better.   
  
Kurt's grin remained unchanged, and he flashed his teeth at her again. "An extremely long and complicated story, Fraulein. One which I shall relate to you forthwith… ugh…" He swayed slightly, staggering backwards. He was forced to clutch at Kitty's arm and hip to stay upright, such was the length of the step. She blushed at the sudden contact, and when he'd got his balance back, Kurt jerked away from her, the skin beneath his fur tinting scarlet. Swiftly, he changed the subject. "I rephrase. One that I shall be glad to explain properly once I get some food in me. I'm getting that woozy feeling again. Es tut mir leid, Kätzchen."  
  
"I *knew* you hadn't, like, had enough to eat. Sit down, Kurt." Kitty plonked him unceremoniously on the end of Rogue's bed, thrusting a bowl of broth into his tri-dactyl hands. "Here. You can have mine, too. I *told* you that you hadn't eaten nearly enough today, but you didn't listen to me."  
  
Kurt frowned, but accepted the dish greedily. "Es tut mir leid, Kätzchen. Nerven, sehen Sie. I lose my appetite when I'm worried or nervous. All cleared up now, though." He raised the bowl to his lips, eyes sliding slyly in Rogue's direction. The glance was only for a split second, but it was enough to knock the ex-assassin back a few mental paces.  
  
_The Elf couldn't eat because of *me*?_ The concept was too ridiculous to be true. _That greedy little Kaju? I wouldn't have thought a tornado could take his appetite away, especially with that high metabolism of his. He was risking a lot more than a few stomach growls by not eating. Nobody's ever been so worried about *me*. Not since before…_ She shook the thought away, scowling.  
  
In mere moments, Kurt had drained the bowl of broth. He sat cross legged, tail trailing in his lap and tongue licking the last traces of food from the fur around his mouth. Droplets tended to catch there, and he made a great show of enjoying them just as much as the rest of his meal.  
  
"Mmm, dass ist sehr gut. Give my compliments to the chef."  
  
"You may tell him yourself, later. I'm sure Fred would appreciate that."  
  
All eyes turned upon Ororo, as she walked gracefully into the room. She seemed almost to float rather than do something so pedestrian as walk, and spared a single glance for the door, still splayed against the opposite wall.  
  
"Your handiwork, Jubilee? You really must curb that. Entering a room without destroying the door can't be so very difficult, can it?" She smiled, and it was like sunbeams on an already warm day. "Or have the rest of us mastered some thorny skill that still evades you?" The words were distinctly sarcastic, and if spoken by anybody else, they would have sounded as such. Yet, somehow, coming from Ororo's mouth all malicious intent was lost from them; cast aside in the friendly tone of her mellow voice.  
  
Jubilee looked at the floor and scuffed her foot. "Sorry, Temple Mother," she muttered, obviously embarrassed.   
  
Ororo just laughed. "Come now, don't be gloomy. It doesn't suit you. But I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave us for a while, my child." She nodded at the three non-temple members. "I have great need to speak with your new friends alone, and the matter at hand is both very pressing and very private. I'll let you know when we're finished."  
  
Jubilee nodded obediently, keeping her eyes firmly glued to the floorboards. With a perfunctory nod at the trio, she edged out of the door, careful not to turn her back on the majestic woman until it was time to close it behind her. Then she turned and ran, cheeks flaming when the door banged shut.  
  
The moment it did so, Ororo's mask slipped, shocking those who saw it. Her face became grave, and she called out loudly, "Teah?"  
  
The young healer bustled through another door, caterwauling baby now asleep in the crook of her arm. Her hair was coming loose from its fastenings, and her eyes held a spark of exasperation. The Infirmary was a sprawling of many rooms, and she'd missed the majority of events so far as she rocked him to sleep in another, quieter one. She held a finger to her lips, and nodded at the older woman. "Yes, Ororo. What is it?"  
  
"I need some privacy to speak with our three guests. Can you be sure that nobody disturbs us?"   
  
"Will do," Teah replied shortly, and vanished back into the other area, kicking the door shut with her foot. It slammed, and Kitty winced.  
  
_That can't be, like, good for sleeping babies._  
  
Ororo turned to face them all with a tired sigh. Her face had taken on a distinctly haggard aura in the few moments since the room had been effectively sealed off from the rest of the temple, and Kurt noticed with his sharp vision that small black rings encircled her normally vibrant eyes. She looked nothing less than exhausted – the regret in her eyes a stark contrast to only a few moments previous.  
  
He blinked, wondering if he'd read the emotion correctly.   
  
Regret? Ororo? What did the Temple Mother have to be remorseful about?  
  
Or… what was she about to *do* that she was going to regret?  
  
  
  
A feeling of dread began to form in the pit of his stomach.  
  
Ororo gestured with one hand, the other concealed within the magenta folds of her sleeve. "Please, be seated."  
  
"I'm okay," Kitty shrugged, since she was the only one still standing besides Ororo herself, but the older woman shook her head.  
  
"I'm afraid I must insist. I think you'll need to be sitting down when I've said what I have to say."  
  
"Ororo, what's this all about?" Kurt asked worriedly, as Kitty perched herself neatly on a neighbouring bed, rumpling the erstwhile unused sheets.  
  
Ororo sighed again and went to the window. She rested her palms against the sill, staring down into the courtyard below and keeping her gaze firmly averted. It was clear even to the most untrained eye that whatever it was she needed to say to them, she wasn't looking forward to it.   
  
"Ororo?"  
  
"I don't know quite how to begin," she admitted at last, still not looking at them. "I waited so long for this moment, but now it's arrived I find myself unable to do what is necessary. I thought this would be a time of great joy at my discovery, but… it's not. This is, in fact, a time of only remorse at the mantle I must place about your young shoulders." She hung her head, white hair falling across her face and shielding it from them.  
  
Rogue snorted, unimpressed by the melodrama. "Listen, lady. I don't know you as well as these two seem to, but you're speaking nonsense, so far as I can see. If you wanna say something, then say it. Don't beat around the bush."  
  
Kitty stared at her, horrified. "Rogue," she admonished, "have some respect."  
  
"No, she's right." Ororo lifted her hands from the sill and clasped them behind her back – though she still didn't turn back to face the room.   
  
The knot in Kurt's stomach tightened, and he reached out for Kitty's bowl of broth to steady himself. He knew from past experience that nerves sapped his energy, and that could only lead to another fainting spell. Somehow, though he didn't know exactly how, he was aware of how important it was he stay conscious for whatever was about to occur.  
  
"This cannot be put off any longer, and it's wrong of me to withhold the truth from you young ones. I only wish there was some other way…" Ororo trailed off. Then she shook her head, as if clearing her thoughts.   
  
They'd never seen her this way before. She seemed agitated, and as far removed from her usual composed self as was possible to get. It made all of their senses scream with trepidation – even Rogue, on some subliminal level.   
  
"You've all three of you seen much in your short lives," Ororo said. "In some cases, too much. More than mere children should have to see. And yet you've borne it and survived. This bodes well for you for what the future holds. You're all aware of the one known as The Silver Sword?"  
  
An involuntary growl left Rogue's throat, and she clenched her hands into fists. "Know him? I'd like to rip his damn throat out with mah bare hands!"  
  
"Rogue," Kurt said warningly, shooting her a glance that only he could master – a look that instantly reduced her to a mere scowl, instead of impending violence.  
  
"I'll take that as a yes." Ororo went on, "Then I trust you're all also aware of what he has done in recent years to Earth-Realm? Of the magical forces he's meddled with, the lives he's ruined and stolen, and the freedom he's destroyed, all in the name of increasing his own power?"   
  
This took the three youngsters aback – Rogue included. Never before had they heard such vehemence and naked anger in the Temple Mother's tone. Her voice held all the marks of true hatred, yet all mixed up with a despair of which none of them could place the origin. It was a somehow chilling sound.  
  
Kurt licked his lips. "Ja. We've heard of these things. How could we not, when all of the Changelings at this temple are the result of his magic?" _Kätzchen included,_ he added silently.  
  
"I've done more than heard about his antics," Rogue gritted. "I've *seen* 'em with mah own eyes. I did some pretty awful stuff mahself when I was an assassin. Not that I saw it as such at the time, but even now, it ain't nothing compared to the… there ain't no other word to describe him; the *evil* he's capable of. It turned mah stomach every time I came across his handiwork, and that's saying something, considering some of the memories I got." She tapped the side of her head to demonstrate.  
  
Ororo's gaze flickered sideways over her shoulder, but soon returned to looking out of the window. Apparently, she found it easier to converse with them when she didn't have to see their faces. "In all my years, I've never come across anyone quite as power-hungry as The Silver Sword. He's cold, and completely ruthless. He is willing to do whatever it takes to get what he wants, whatever that might be at any given moment, and no matter how it affects other people. Ally or foe, he's shattered more lives than anyone can count anymore, and his influence has spiralled so out of control that I doubt anyone could stop him if he chose to do something drastic, like topple an empire or sink a continent. Yes, it has been considered that he might want to do these things. It wouldn't be the first time someone has tried. If he wanted to destroy all of Earth-Realm, I don't think there's anybody powerful enough left to oppose him. He has them all under his thumb, or else they're already vanquished."  
  
Kitty gaped. "He wouldn't *do* that, would he?"  
  
"He might," was the deadpan reply. "That's what makes him so dangerous. There's no telling *what* he has planned next. Power, land, knowledge, magicks – sometimes I wonder whether he'll ever be satisfied with what Earth-Realm has to offer. There have been rumours for some time that once he has exhausted all ways of dominating mortals, he wishes to extend his reach into the matters if deities, as well. He lusts after the power held by The Powers That Be, you know. *And* that of the gods."  
  
"The *gods*?" Kurt was incredulous. "But nobody can take power away from the *gods*. They created everything. They… they *are* power. They'd just strike him down in the blink of an eye if he tried anything with them. They're all-powerful… aren't they?"  
  
Ororo shrugged, circumventing the question. "As I said, it's only rumour. Now. But in the future, who knows? Power does peculiar things to a person. It corrupts even the most innocent of souls. And The Silver Sword has so much of it that we can only conjecture how it has affected him on a personal level. One must wonder about a man who plans battle strategy for evening sport instead of Bobstones."  
  
The knot tightened another notch.  
  
Rogue folded her arms. "That's all well and good," she said, vaguely defiant, "but what's it got to do with us?"  
  
"It has everything to do with you," Ororo said sharply. "I was just making sure you realised the extent of what you are to be faced with."  
  
"Faced with?"  
  
At last, her eyes shifted from the window, coming to rest on Rogue's pale face. "This isn't some petty quest anymore, Rogue of the Guild. I know of your desire to reclaim your loved one from The Silver Sword's stronghold."  
  
Rogue frowned deeply, eyebrows practically meeting.   
  
"But now you are destined for much more than a simple rescue from that wicked place." A loaded pause. "Much more…"  
  
Rogue wrinkled her nose. "Huh? I don't get what you're talking about, lady, but I sure as hell don't like the sound of it."  
  
Ororo laughed. It wasn't a nice sound, and barely resembled the tinkling laughter she'd graced Jubilee with only minutes earlier. It spoke of pain and sombre knowledge, all mixed up with a dose of realism so harsh that it was painful to hear. A collective shiver ran down their spines, though Rogue shook hers off with a toss of her unruly hair.  
  
"I'd be very worried if you *did* like the sound of it, child."   
  
Tentatively, Kurt spoke up, voice quavering slightly with trepidation. He attempted to hide his weakness, but the waver in his tone was still painfully obvious. "Ororo, was ist los? What's the matter? What's going on?"  
  
When she didn't reply, Kitty added her own voice to the proceedings. "Ororo? Please. If it involves us, then we have a right to know what's going on."  
  
Ororo smirked acrimoniously. "Yes… you do." She turned to face them properly, surveying each of them in turn, as if learning the contours of their faces like she was never going to see them again. Then she sighed deeply, and it seemed to come from the soles of her sandals. "I'm sorry."  
  
The knot in Kurt's midriff was so tight it was almost choking him, and he struggled for breath through the foul blanket of dread embracing his insides. "Sorry?" he squeaked, wondering where all his good mood had gone. "For what, Fraulein?"  
  
"For not being able to change things. For not being able to shoulder this burden myself. For not being able to do anything but play messenger. I'm sorry, my children. Truly, I am."  
  
Kitty's fingers curled nervously into her palms. In, out, in out – they played a staccato rhythm of half-moons in her skin. "Ororo, you're scaring me."  
  
"I'm sorry, my child. I'm so, so sorry."  
  
Rogue slammed a fist against her bedside cabinet, startling them all. "Enough with the damn 'sorrys' already!" she snapped, businesslike despite her bed-ridden state. Her expression was just short of thunderous, and she snorted at Ororo with no more respect than she might have shown a thief or beggar in the street. In short, she looked at her just as she would anyone else in the world. "Just tell us what we need to hear and stop drawing it out. It's pretty obvious this whatever-it-is leans on the side of 'important', so just suck it up, get on with it, and stop keeping us in the dark for Hells' sakes."   
  
Ororo's head jerked up, blinking, but she nodded. "You are correct. I shall try to be more concise." She took a breath and continued, "Firstly, you must know of a prophecy that was made many thousands of years ago. It concerned the rise of a 'glittering darkness' – a 'shining bade' that has since been proved truthful by the augmentation of The Silver Sword. Yet, it also spoke of a saviour who would follow him into the world; an unusual saviour, who would strive to rescue Earth-Realm from the clutches of the 'subtle foe' and return peace and order to the lands once more."  
  
"A saviour?" Kurt glanced around at Kitty and Rogue. Suspicion was starting to manifest in the back of his mind, and from the looks on their faces, it was doing so with them, too. "What kind of a saviour?"  
  
"'A saviour of old; reborn to strive our cause, but deadly to our eyes. Demons will join the Jinrui, and salvation shall come from the heart of the Pehora,'" Ororo quoted.  
  
Rogue made a choking noise, eyes widening out of their scowl for a second. "But that's… I… I *know* those words. I've seem them before, a long time ago."  
  
Both Kurt and Kitty looked at her.  
  
"Seen them, Fraulein?"   
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"When I wasn't long out of The Guild, I took shelter in some big old abandoned house. It was shelter, so I didn't question much, other than there was nobody in it and the kitchens had good food along with the spoiled. When I was scouting the place for serviceable weapons, I found a whole bunch of papers – translations of an ancient text. I couldn't make head nor tail of them, but for some reason I always remembered what they said." She stared at the Temple Mother. "How do *you* know about them?"  
  
"That quotation is from the Texts of Calorsiel. A prophet of many years ago. I know of it because I have a copy of it." Ororo loosed a long breath. "The prophecy was ignored for many years, and by the time I realised its true significance, it was too late. The Silver Sword had already begun his rise to power, and had gained a copy for himself, also. Now he seeks to destroy the saviour who is to come and fight for us."   
  
"And why does this concern us, Ororo?" Kurt breathed, hesitant of the answer.  
  
Blue eyes fixed squarely on him, making him squirm beneath their intensity. "It concerns you," Ororo said sadly, "because you three are that saviour."  
  
A muted gasp circulated the room, and Kitty clapped a hand to her mouth.   
  
  
  
"What?" Rogue was incredulous, though a distance part of her had been expected a statement like this. Still, her knee-jerk reaction was to fight it. "Can't be. You're wrong, lady. Dead wrong." She shook her head. "We ain't the saving type. Especially not me."  
  
"And yet you would walk into your enemy's fortress to rescue the boy you love," Ororo said quietly. "You know better than anyone that what I say is the truth, Rogue. You speak Gehin. Tell Kurt and Kitty what 'Jinrui' and 'Pehora' mean."  
  
"Fraulein?" Kurt looked expectantly at the ex-assassin, who fumbled uncomfortably away from his golden eyes, only to be met by an equally anxious pair of blue.  
  
"Rogue, like, what's she talking about?"  
  
Rogue bit her lip and hung her head, muttering a string of unrepeatable curses. "Jinrui means mankind, and Pehora means three," she said grudgingly.  
  
"Demons will join mankind, and salvation shall come from the heart of the three," Kurt repeated, adding in the translations. His eyes enlarged, as he realised to whom they were referring. "Demons? Does that mean me?"  
  
"It's talking about when y'all joined me on mah quest to Belvedere," Rogue bit out, glancing up at Ororo with something akin to resentment. "Ain't it?"  
  
The older woman nodded. "It is. You three are the saviour of legend. It was written as such, and Jean confirmed it with a vision the night before you arrived. She saw you before she'd even met you, and prophesied what you were destined to do for us. For all of us."  
  
"Wait a second, Jean knew about this?" Now it was Kitty's turn to be incredulous. "She knew all this time, and she didn't tell us? Didn't so much as *hint* at it?"  
  
"I told her not to. It was important that all three of you be present to hear of your destiny, and until tonight, that was impossible. I told you that The Silver Sword also has a copy of the prophecy, and is trying to destroy the saviour. That's why he sent the Displacer Beast. It was dispatched to kill any of the three of you, because if even one of you is missing then the prophecy can never be fulfilled."  
  
"Whoa! Hang on a minute!" Rogue held up her hands. "You keep saying 'saviour', but you talk about all three of us. Don't you mean 'saviours'? As in the plural?"  
  
"No, I know exactly what I mean when I say 'saviour'. Now you must learn of the truth behind each of your existences, and all the lives that went before to create you three. Kurt," she focused on him again. "You wanted answers to your heritage, and you got them here when you discovered about your parents. But I didn't tell you before that I know much more about your history than even they did. Likewise, Kitty and Rogue. I know more about you three than anybody else in Earth-Realm, the Silver Sword included. He knows that three are going to face and try to vanquish him, but he doesn't know what these three are truly capable of. Now, I shall tell you of your destiny."  
  
"Destiny?" Rogue sniffed. "I don't believe in destiny. I choose mah own path in life."  
  
"Silence, Rogue." Ororo's tone was uncharacteristically brusque, startling them all. "Don't say things you know nothing about. If you refuse your fate, then you're consigning the entire world to death and destruction. Is that what you really want? To wreak not only devastation, but debauchery and literal Hells incarnate on innocents? *Is it*?"  
  
"No," Rogue mumbled, folding her arms.  
  
"All I ask you to do at present is listen. Afterwards, you can make your own decisions. The nature of the prophecy means that I can't force you into anything you don't want to do, whatever I may think of your choices."  
  
"We're listening, Temple Mutter."  
  
Ororo dropped her gaze, focusing solidly on the floorboards and tracing the grain instead of looking at the trio. She didn't want to see their expressions if they didn't believe her. She didn't want to see all her hopes – the hopes of all Earth-Realm – burst into flames on their faces.   
  
Taking a deep breath for inner strength, she began her explanation.  
  
"Long, long ago, in a time of hate and malice similar to the world The Silver Sword will create if allowed to do so. In a time of greater magic than we know now – of sorcery that has long since been lost in the mists of time. The world was a darker place then. Constant wars raged across the lands, and the sun appeared dark in the eyes of each soul trampled beneath its rays. This was a time not so very long after the gods created first Earth-Realm, and yet the beings in it, the first races, had already learned to hate and kill each other. Blood ran freely, and eventually times grew so appalling that Ajudan, the king of the gods, decided it was best to smite the entire world and start over. However, the other gods and goddesses disagreed with him. They'd come to like this realm, and the seeds of love and compassion that sometimes shone through the darkness, piercing the malice of people's hearts. Ajudan had indulged this world in the creation of souls – abstracts that contained mortal spirits and allowed them the faculty of choice, whether for good or evil. This ability to choose sometimes reaped glorious results, and there were pockets of the first races filled with something that would later be named 'compassion'. Many of the gods and goddesses had taken mortal lovers from these pockets, and protested on their behalf for Ajudan to reconsider. Such was their argument that he did indeed relent, but that left him with the dilemma of what to do about the problems facing Earth-Realm. The way things were, people we going to destroy themselves and those around them, anyway, without any need for the gods to do so, and the world would end by the hands of those that inhabited it. The ultimate irony, Ajudan laughed at their predicament, even as he removed his hands from the game board, for he had declared that no deity be able to directly and actively interfere in the ways of mortals.  
  
"So the other gods rallied together and came up with a different tactic. They chose a man, a mortal fighter from Earth-Realm who had proven himself righteous by defending the innocent against all who threatened them, with no material gain for himself. He had flaws, as does any mortal, but his virtues far outweighed them, and they elected to 'reward' him for this intrinsic worth. The warrior's name was Rei-Shima, and he became the gods' champion. They gave him the gift of great power – more than any mortal had ever known before – and he used it to cleanse the lands of evil and restore peace and prosperity to all. Earth Realm was much smaller then, and in less than a score of years he had united the lands in harmony, and his exploits became the stuff of legend. The era when he roamed has since become known only as the Golden Age, and was a time of happiness and peace for all who desired it.  
  
"However, despite all the good he did, Rei-Shima was still only mortal. He was not a god, nor one of The Powers That Be. Great though his gifts and abilities were, they could not make him live forever, and the day eventually came when his life ran out. However, fearing what would happen if such great evil should rise again, as it did before, the gods gave their champion one last gift for all that he had done in saving his world. He was given a choice, between eternal happiness in the paradise of hereafter, or staying dormant on the mortal plane to safeguard the world he had already left. As the gods had known he would, he chose the latter; and so, when he died his soul was split into three parts. These were characterized by different aspects of his life – one part stood for the love he felt for Earth-Realm, another was for the hope he inspired in people, and the last was for the death he wreaked upon his enemies, for though he was a hero, Rei-Shima never forgot that justice was dealt through punishment as much as tenderness. Love, Hope and Death; these three parts were then placed into three separate bodies, destined to be reborn and rehoused time and time again into the mortal world, waiting for a day when they would once again be needed and merge together to form the saviour, Rei-Shima."  
  
A diamond pause followed this story.   
  
"Love, Hope and Death," Rogue repeated at last. "I remember something about that in Calorsiel's prophecy."  
  
Ororo nodded, and quoted the section. "'A law unto themselves; Death, Love and Hope, with eyes of fire and precious metal, shall come as one, to be reborn as that which has been and shall be again, and with one hand to stay the power of the glittering darkness.' "   
  
"Eyes of precious metal." Kitty pursed her lips. "Gold eyes."   
  
Kurt's fingers strayed involuntarily to his face, but he said nothing.  
  
"So… now you know," Ororo said sadly. "Truly, I am sorry for this, since you are no more than children, but it is your destiny to unite and resurrect Rei-Shima so that he may stop the ascension of The Silver Sword."  
  
Kitty emitted a high whimper. "Nu-uh. You're wrong. You've made the wrong choice."  
  
"You were chosen by a power far greater than I, Kitty. Far greater than all of us. An authority that was present before the beginning, and will remain after the end. You three were chosen by the gods themselves."  
  
Silence – a gulf of quiescence that seemed to stretch to eternity and back.   
  
Ororo should have suspected as much. After all, she'd basically just called into question everything these three had ever believed about themselves. To suddenly find out that you're not what you thought you were – not *who* you thought you were… Rogue in particular was already embroiled in a crisis of identity. Marie, Rogue, and now something more than either. She was part of something so powerful as the gods' own champion, a legend of millennia past suddenly brought to life inside her – inside all of them, when he should have been consigned to dusty texts and old tapestries. Added to that already weighty blow, to then discover that they must also travel into a den of evil and do battle with one of the worst enemies Earth-Realm had ever known; an enemy who had levelled entire armies and flayed people alive to relieve boredom… well, it was bound to affect them deeply.  
  
Ororo waited with baited breath for a response.  
  
Curiously, it was Rogue who broke the silence, snapping the other two from their trance-like state with the sound of her voice. "I believe you," she said simply, like she was telling them the time of day. "I don't know why, and I don't know how, and though I can't say I don't care about either of those justifications, somehow… I know that what you're saying is true. Ever since I first read Calorsiel's prophecy, I've known that something was coming. Something big. It… frek, it haunted mah dreams. Damn well plagued me 'til I finally accepted I'd have some kinda part to play in it. Until this second, I didn't know what that part was. Now I do know… so I believe you, Ororo the White. I believe you. And I'll do whatever I can to fulfil that there destiny and stop The Silver Sword. I promise."  
  
Ororo smiled a grateful smile. "Thank you."   
  
"I… I think I believe you, too," Kurt piped up weakly. He was clutching the broth bowl so tight, the skin beneath his fur was blanching. His fingers trembled, but his eyes were shining, and his voice held a note of bizarre decisiveness that did not match the rest of him at all.   
  
"Thank you, Kurt. Truly, you have your mother's strength of spirit."   
  
He blushed then, despite himself.   
  
Ororo turned to the last part of the trio. "Kitty? What is your decision?"  
  
Kitty sat, shell-shocked. Her skin was pulled taut across her face, and her eyes were wide with nothing less than total, abject fear. At the sound of her name, she tilted her head, eyes flicking upward. They were shining, too, but not with strength. Terrified moisture crept like dewdrops into her eyelashes, and her gaze held a clearly distressed and jagged edge, as she looked at the Temple Mother.  
  
"My decision?" she whispered, parroting the words but not really hearing them. Then she blinked, and something trickled down her cheek. She didn't even acknowledge the tear. "Do I, like, have a choice?"  
  
"There is always a choice, Kitty," Ororo replied, though it was a rhetorical question. "Always. And this is yours to make."  
  
Kitty's gaze became unfocused, as she again considered what was being asked of her. Disbelief flew around her mind like a trapped bird. It couldn't be true. She was just plain old Kitty Pryde, not some piece of a gigantic cosmic puzzle. She was too small, too insignificant to be a part of anything like that.   
  
_Choice? What choice? Do this, or the world will end. Oh, yeah, big choice. I can't do this…_  
  
She resisted the urge to hold her head. Instead, her hand found its way to her chest, coming to rest above her heart, where she'd always been taught her soul resided. She could feel the faint pulse of lifeblood beneath her palm, and she swallowed, allowing her breath to follow the rhythm so she didn't start hyperventilating.  
  
_No choice. No choice at all… This is too much… too big…_  
  
She rotated her thumb, finding the spot where soul energy was supposed to be strongest. She had a memory of her father teaching her the spot when she was very small, so she knew where to place her hand on the first day of a new year, when she welcomed good spirits into the house and tempted them to stay with the promise of a good, kind soul to care for.  
  
But was it really her soul? Or was it something more? Did she really have part of Rei-Shima's spirit inside her, waiting to be released? The idea seemed quite insane.   
  
As insane as a temple full of randomly magickal beings? As insane as being able to walk through walls and people like a living ghost? As insane as a chimera blowing up her house? As insane as the son of a Demon wanting to be her friend?   
  
"Kätzchen?"  
  
Her head jerked up, perturbed from her thoughts, and her eyes instantly met a pair of pleading gold.   
  
Kurt looked at her from the opposite bed, face full of earnestness. His brows had arched in concern, but his eyes still beseeched her.   
  
She stared at him, and then her gaze slid sideways to where Rogue was also watching. There was none of the usual savageness to the ex-assassin, but an inscrutable expression nestled in her features. Her green eyes peered at Kitty, seeming almost to bore into her. The two of them mirrored each other, obviously willing the last part of their group to join them in the task they were undertaking. Without her, their efforts would be useless and doomed to failure.   
  
Kitty blinked as she realised that, for the first time in her life, she was needed. They really needed her, and if Ororo's story were true, then so did all of Earth-Realm. She had been right – there really was no choice to it. Yet, it wasn't because the world wouldn't let her make any other choice, but because she would let the world give her any other. She couldn't abandon it to the cruelty of The Silver Sword. Not without trying to stop him, at least. If she did, then they'd all be dead anyway, so what was there to lose by trying? What was there to lose by fighting?  
  
_No choice, really…_  
  
She swallowed nervously. "Count me in."  
  
At once, all their faces relaxed.   
  
Ororo sighed happily. She'd found them. She'd discovered the three soul parts of Rei-Shima and turned them to their quest. At long last, she had succeeded in her task. "Thank you. Thank you all."  
  
Rogue leaned forward in her pooled bedclothes, frowning at something. "I have a question though."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"How?"  
  
Ororo seemed perplexed. "Excuse me?"  
  
"How exactly are we supposed to become Rei-Shima? It's all well and good saying we got his soul inside us, but how exactly are we supposed to let it out and 'resurrect' him, like you say?"  
  
She nodded. It was a valid question. "I'm afraid I have no answer to that, Rogue, since he's never had to be brought back before. Nothing and nobody as dangerous as The Silver Sword has ever arisen since before the Golden Age, before Earth-Realm expanded into the immeasurably multicultural place it is today."  
  
"You mean you're sending us on this here quest to defeat The Silver Sword, but you don't know how the Hells we're supposed to do it?" Rogue snorted. "That's the… Do you know how powerful that guy is? No, stupid question. 'Course you do. You know full well that he's got bucket-loads of magic – much more than any mage ever to walk Earth-Realm. So how are we gonna get him if all we got is the Shrimp's phasing, Kurt's Bamfing, and mah sword?"  
  
Ororo folded her arms pensively, and tapped her chin with one delicate brown finger.   
  
"You're keeping something from us, Ororo." Kurt took a steadying sip from the erstwhile forgotten bowl of broth. It was cold, and starting to congeal, but he didn't care. It filled his stomach and sat like a brick, and if nothing else, Kurt knew that he could rely on a full stomach to be simple and easy to understand. "What is it?"  
  
"Well, there was a theory that each of the soul parts would be activated by its possessor performing some feat that demonstrated what it stood for – like being exceptionally and patently hopeful in the midst of a crisis if you hold the part of Hope."  
  
Kurt spluttered, sending flecks of food onto the floor as the ramifications of the statement flipped over in his brain. His full stomach suddenly tasted sour, and he thought he could trace bile in the back of his throat. "You mean, the one who holds the part of Death would have to *kill* someone?"  
  
"Possibly. As I said, it is simple speculation."  
  
"Is there any way to know which of us got which parts?" Kitty asked feebly.  
  
Ororo shook her head. "No. At least, not until they activate to resurrect Rei-Shima. They might have something to do with each of your personalities. But then again, they might be totally random. I honestly don't know. Calorsiel never spoke of it in such practical terms, and there is no other real reference to resurrecting the gods' champion in any text I have come across. And believe me, I've searched."  
  
"I probably got Death," Rogue surmised. "It makes sense, given mah profession."   
  
The others had to agree.  
  
"Wonder what I got?" Kurt said in a small voice, worrying the rim of his bowl with his fangs. He stopped when the wood began to splinter, spitting out inedible pieces.   
  
"Probably Hope, 'cause you're always so damned positive and cheerful," Rogue growled.  
  
"So that means I got… Love?" Kitty asked, and then scowled. "That's ridiculous. There's, like, nothing in my personality that would reflect that."  
  
Rogue gave her a curious sideways glance. "You sure about that, Shrimp?"  
  
Kitty's scowl deepened, her cheeks colouring a smidgen. "Dead sure."  
  
"Choice phrasing, Kätzchen." Kurt's heart sank as the handsome, distinctly un-fuzzy face of Sam Guthrie swam uninvited into his mind's eye. Hastily, he chased it away. _There are more important things to think about, right now!_  
  
"Well, whatever happens, the fact remains that to have any chance of defeating The Silver Sword, you'll have to go to Belvedere to do it." Ororo wandered over to the window again, looking to where the moon hung bulbous and pale against the night sky. "Since he's aware of the prophecy, he's not leaving his fortress. He's trying to force you to go to him, where he'll have the advantage of his own home territory. This quest will be very dangerous. He's waiting for you, and he's bound to make more attempts on your lives before you get there. His reach is extensive and growing every day."  
  
"We're all aware of that, Ororo." Kurt reached over and placed the empty bowl on the stand. "But if we're to have any chance of defeating him, then we'll *have* to go there. There's just no other way. Whatever happens, he must be stopped."  
  
"We're going to Belvedere," Rogue stated, with an air of finality.  
  
"Yeah." Kitty added, and then felt immediately inept at her contribution. _'Yeah'? Very articulate, Kitty. Not._  
  
Ororo gave a vague smile – a ghost of an expression, really. "I can see why you three were chosen to house the three parts. You're brave and true, just like Rei-Shima was." She surveyed them for a long moment, and then her manner became brisk and practical, reflecting the position of power and authority she held. "You need to leave for Belvedere as soon as possible if you're to avoid further attacks. I don't think The Silver Sword is aware of your current location; otherwise he would surely have made some kind of offence against the temple. We have magicks here that prevent against scrying and suchlike, but they don't really help against more traditional tracking methods. We need to keep him in the dark long enough for you to get to the forest surrounding Belvedere."  
  
"What's in the forest around Belvedere?" Kurt asked.  
  
"A resistance group my Great-great-great-great-grandson is a part of. It's made up of different races The Silver Sword's forces sacked and destroyed the homes of. Most of their people were either killed or taken prisoner, so their numbers are few, but they're powerful fighters, and understandably willing to do anything to bring him down."  
  
Kurt blinked in bewilderment. _Great-great-great-great-grandson? But she looks barely old enough to be a respectable mother. How could *she* have a descendant like that?_  
  
Ororo raised a knowing eyebrow, sensing the elf's train of thought from his expression. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Kurt, but I'm actually over five hundred years old. I have many great-grandchildren, as well as a host of other descendants."  
  
He looked embarrassed at how patent his disbelief must have been, bending his neck slightly and lowering his eyes. "You certainly look good for your age, Bügel-Mutter."  
  
"I'll take that as a compliment. I think. Now, about this resistance group - "  
  
"Ororo," Rogue broke in, "I'm sorry, but I gotta say something. You see, when I became The Rogue, the Guild of Assassins sent a hunting party out to terminate me. Considering how long I was laid up with this Shaking Sickness, it's a fair bet to say that they can't be very far behind me now. There's… there's a good chance they'll try to attack the temple once they know I'm inside."  
  
"With this many Changelings here, good luck to them," Kurt pooh-poohed, wanting to discuss mater of the resistance some more. "They probably won't make it past the front gates without being fried by someone or other."  
  
"And that's another thing." Rogue folded her arms. "You say we need to find this resistance group in the forest around Belvedere. But odds are they're pretty well hidden if they've evaded The Silver Sword for so long. How're we supposed to find them without being caught ourselves? Are you gonna come with us?"  
  
Ororo shook her head, white hair gently brushing her magenta-clad shoulders with a musical 'swish'. "No, I'm not."  
  
Rogue frowned. "Why not? I know for a fact that you're incredibly powerful."   
  
Both Kurt and Kitty shot her strange looks at this, each of them asking the same question; how did she know how powerful Ororo was when they didn't?   
  
Rogue went on. "You could be a great asset against him if you went with us to Belvedere."  
  
Ororo frowned in return. "And what would you have me do when we got there? Fight him? I can't leave this temple undefended. I'm Temple Mother; it's my responsibility to protect this place and its inhabitants."  
  
"The others could come to," Rogue pressed. "They're all Changelings. They could fight alongside us."  
  
"And die alongside us, too." The dark-skinned woman shook her head again. "No, Rogue. We are a peaceful sect. We do not attack, only defend, and only when necessary. Violence is not our way. We have children and elderly to think about, as well as those not in total control of their powers. They wouldn't last five minutes on a journey like this, and would be little more than a hindrance upon arrival."  
  
"With that kind of attitude we're never gonna beat The Silver Sword!" Rogue snarled, contempt evident in her voice.  
  
Ororo, by comparison, sounded sad. "You don't need our help to defeat him. You already have the power, deep inside yourselves. I don't think you realise just how powerful Rei-Shima is. If you believe in that, and in him, then everything will turn out right. I believe this as truly as I believe the sun will rise tomorrow."   
  
"Ororo?" Kitty swallowed hard. "Will we… If we do resurrect this Rei-Shima person, will we… What'll happen to us? I mean, if he's got our souls, or we've got his, or whatever, then where do we go when he's reborn? Do we just… like, not exist anymore?"  
  
"I… I do not know."  
  
"Encouraging." Rogue folded her arms and blew a feather from her bangs.   
  
"It is possible you will return to your three separate bodies after the danger is passed, but…"   
  
"It's also possible that we won't." Kitty looked at her feet. "I understand."  
  
Ororo looked at her for a moment, and then turned to address all three of them. "You needn't worry about finding the resistance group. If you're in the forest, then they'll find you. You'll know them when you see them. And when you do, you must say 'morehu'."  
  
"'Morehu'? What does that mean?" Kurt screwed up his face.  
  
"It's a word from my homeland to the East. It means 'saviour'. The resistance fighters will know what it means, and who you three are if you say it. I'll send word ahead of you to make sure. If the person you meet doesn't respond, then you'll know he or she is a member of The Silver Sword's forces, and an enemy."  
  
"Oh. So it's a password?"  
  
"Basically, yes." Ororo nodded. "Now, as for getting there, who amongst you can ride?"  
  
Kitty's face broke out into a wide, if strained grin, faintly pleased to be presented with something she was good at. Rather than confront the possibility of ceasing to exist of they were successful, she chose the more passive route of just plain ignoring the whole aspect of the venture. "Ride? I practically, like, grew up on horseback!"  
  
"I can ride," Rogue replied, in a more stately fashion. "It sorta came as part and parcel of the job. Good getaway transportation in a tight spot, if y'all know what I mean."  
  
"Kurt?"   
  
All eyes turned expectantly on him, but he shied away from their penetrating stares.   
  
"Can *you* ride?" Ororo queried.  
  
"I… I've only ever seen a horse once in my life," he answered quietly, as if ashamed of his own inexperience when compared to his female companions', "and then I must have spooked it, because its rider tried to get it to stamp on me."  
  
"Oh, Kurt." Kitty's heart went out to him, and she gave him a reassuring smile. "I'll teach you to ride, no problem. It's easy as falling off a log."  
  
"Danke, Kätzchen." Kurt said, though again he winced at her phraseology.  
  
"All right, then," said Ororo's husky baritone. "Tomorrow, you two will commence horseback training at the temple stables. Rogue, *you* will rest and recuperate here in the Infirmary."  
  
"Aw, but I - " Rogue started to protest.  
  
"No, Rogue. You have only just recovered form Shaking Sickness. You need all the rest you can garner to regain your strength. No doubt Teah will help you, but she has other responsibilities, and therefore you must to help yourself, also. You'll need to be in top form if you want to reach The Silver Sword. Much less defeat him. Kitty will teach Kurt to ride so that you can take some of our horses to reach Belvedere faster. *You* will stay here and recuperate. Do I make myself clear?"  
  
Rogue scowled at being treated like a wayward child, and a growl rose to her throat. Her fingers involuntarily curled into claws, nails digging into the crook of her own arm.  
  
"Rogue," Kurt said warningly, in that special way of his.   
  
She sighed. "Yeah, yeah, all right."  
  
"Good." The white-haired woman clapped her hands together, as if ending the discussion in a more formal manner. "Then all is settled. Someone will come along to fetch you tomorrow morning, Kitty, Kurt, and take you to the stables. For now, I think it's best that you all get some sleep."  
  
They couldn't disagree with that, and Kitty punctuated the moment by covering a yawn with her hand. It had been a long, emotionally and physically draining day, and they were all three of them tired. Even Rogue, after her long induced slumber, appeared rather worn by what she'd undergone in the few short hours since her awakening.   
  
Like a mother hen, Ororo shooed the other two out of the room, giving Teah a perfunctory call before leaving. She made swift her departure after a baby's pitiable cries greeted her voice instead of the healer's, hurrying out of the door and closing it softly behind her.  
  
Outside, she led the elf and Changeling girl back to their respective rooms. They made no light conversation as they would usually have done, and Ororo made no attempt to initiate any. It was obvious they wanted to be alone with their thoughts and ruminations concerning the revelatory news she'd revealed so suddenly to them. It was understandable really, and the Temple Mother fixed a grim smile to her face, as she bid them both goodnight and trailed off to her own private chambers. Should anyone have met her, they would not have been able to tell this night was different than any other. Not until she'd firmly closed her door and sunk down in her favourite chair did she let her mask slip.   
  
And slip it did, in a shattering of happy fragments, revealing the misery beneath. Her blue eyes held such sorrowfulness that it would have made any heart bleed to look upon – the sorrow of knowledge she just hadn't been able to bring herself to tell them. Inwardly, she cursed herself for her mortal weakness, but it had just been too far to push. They were already dealing with so much, and dealing admirably, too. To suddenly find out that you bear part of the soul of the gods' own champion, and must untie them to resurrect said warrior, was a mammoth responsibility. Even she had to admire the strength of spirit in each of them for accepting both it and what they must do without running screaming in fear – although Kitty had come very close. Loading them with rumour and sceptical, unproven suspicions was too much right now…  
  
An unhappy breath escaped her lips, and she cupped her forehead in her hands. When Kurt had asked about the person bearing Death having to kill someone, she had almost choked. The urge to tell them was so strong – especially when Rogue laid claim to that part of the soul. Both he and Kitty had such a strong bond with the ex-assassin; it was like she was the glue that held them together.  
  
Or was she? Ororo wasn't stupid, and she hadn't missed the furtive looks passed between those two when they thought nobody was watching. She hadn't failed to see the adoration shining in Kurt's eyes when he looked at the Changeling, or the embarrassment and pain in Kitty's at the idea of possessing the soul part of Love. She would have smiled at their young affections, unrequited but increasing with every passing day, except that the knowledge she held to her breast was too weighty, and too sobering for merriment of any kind. She had her suspicions about Calorsiel's true meaning, but she dared not voice them aloud, lest she tempt fate into making them come to pass.  
  
Yet, as she sat there in her darkened room, head in her hands, she couldn't help whispering to herself the lines that had caused her such worry – the words she hadn't been able to speak to those three youngsters, no matter how hard she tried.  
  
"Be warned, for salvation comes at a high price. Death is the end, and yet through it we shall be saved, and the guilty sent to burn in the light of destiny."   
  
*******************  
  
To Be Continued...  
  
*******************  
  
*TRANSLATIONS*  
  
GERMANIC  
  
Was ist mit mir falsch? ~ What's wrong with me?  
  
Geliebtes. ~ Beloved.  
  
Eine ältere Schwester, möglicherweise? ~ An older sister, maybe?  
  
Fraulein Schlechtes Temper. ~ Miss Bad Temper.  
  
Wundervoll! Ich bin hungrig. ~ Wonderful! I'm hungry.  
  
Nerven, sehen Sie ~ Nerves, you see.  
  
GEHIN  
  
The sharp-eyed may notice that Rogue uses the word 'frek' in this chapter. This is basically just another lovely little curse she knows, and is most commonly used in forms such as 'frek you', 'I'm frekked', and the ever-popular 'frekbar', which is just frek but upped to another level of blue language. "Oh… *frekbar*!" 


	19. Get Off My Back

A/N - Thanks to all who reviewed. As a bonus, there will be a new installment up in three days time. Points to anyone who knows where the title comes from, and who can spot the Shrek reference in this chapter. Please return your seats to an upright position and use the airsickness bags to your left, not the sleeping passenger's popcorn bag to your right. Thank you.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen - 'Get Off My Back'

* * *

_'Get off my back and into my game / Get out of my way and out of my brain / Get out of my face, or give it your best shot. / I think it's time you'd better face the facts – Get off my back'. _-Bryan Adams and Eliot Kennedy, 'Get Off My Back' (2002)

* * *

"Like, come _on_, Kurt." 

"Nein! No way am I going in there."

"But there's nothing to be afraid of."

"They're wild beasts!"

"No, they're not. Look, this one's lipping my hand. She's gentle as a lamb. Come and stroke her nose, it's soft as velvet - "

"Ich lehne ab! Es ist gefährlich! Ich werde nicht es tun!"

"Could you at least argue in a language I, like, understand?"

Kitty tapped her foot impatiently. She would have placed her hands on her hips had they not been preoccupied with keeping hold of a rather docile mare's reins. The doe-eyed horse nuzzled into her palm, licking the salt from her skin with a long, pink tongue.

Kurt clung desperately to the slats of the wooden fence a few feet away, refusing to come any nearer to 'those savage animals'.

Left of him by several feet was a small gathering of Underlings who had either nothing to do, or had forsaken their chores to watch the curious scene playing out in the paddock. Sometimes they tossed advice over the fence as to what should be done.

Kurt looked sheepish. "Sorry, Kätzchen, but I can't get any closer. I just... I _can't_."

Kitty sighed. "Mind telling me why? And I want a _real _reason, not some half-baked excuse."

He shifted his grip, hoisting his body up to perch on the narrow side of the wood. He all but defied the laws of gravity to stay upright where he should have fallen. "It's just that... they're all so _big_, Kätzchen." He gestured around at the handful of other horses in the paddock. All had their heads down cropping grass. "And those _hooves_. Just think of the damage they could do with those things."

Kitty wrinkled her nose. "Pish-posh. You're being unreasonable, Kurt. How can you judge their tempers if you won't even get close enough to pet this one?" She rubbed the mare's snout. "Look at her. She's quieter than a mouse and twice as gentle. See her licking my hand?"

"Look at those teeth. Mind your fingers, Kätzchen, or it might bite them off and eat them."

Kitty rolled her eyes, listening to the titters. "Horses are _herbivores_, Kurt. They wouldn't eat flesh in a million years."

"So says you."

"Look, just because you'll eat anything that stays still long enough to be termed 'food' doesn't mean all creatures do. Now get your tail over here and stroke this horse, mister, before I, like, drag you over by one of your pointy ears!"

A vague cheer went up from the crowd.

Kurt looked decidedly shamefaced. "Kätzchen-"

"_Now_, Kurt."

With a resigned sigh he slid to the ground and edged forward, all the time keeping one eye on the mare. She seemed quite unperturbed at his approach, sparing only an idle sniff for his unusual scent before going back to the salt on Kitty's hand. She'd smelled enough oddities in the temple to ignore Kurt's unique aroma, and seen enough Changelings not to be bothered by his appearance.

Nonetheless, he was very nervous in his approach, and stood scuffing his toes in the dust rather than come any closer.

"Kurt..." Kitty said warningly.

"Bitte, Kätzchen, don't make me come any closer. _Please_!"

"Look, Kurt, if there was any other way then I wouldn't make you do this. I'm not a sadist or anything. But we _need_ horses to get to Belvedere."

"I could Bamf my way there," he suggested, voice hopeful.

Kitty rolled her eyes. "Be serious. You'd, like, totally exhaust yourself doing it. Besides, you know your re-entries aren't so good. You might, like, end up landing right in front of the Silver Sword himself. I'm sure you'd just love that."

"I suppose," Kurt mumbled.

Kitty readjusted the reins in her hands, pulling her sticky palm away and wiping it on her robe without a second thought. "It's all right, Kurt. She won't hurt you. Trust me."

He still looked unsure. "Promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die; stick a dagger in my eye. If it be I a lie I've said, then kill me 'til I'm good and dead." She repeated the childish rhyme like it was sacred ritual, crossing her chest at the appropriate moment.

"Well... I guess... since there's no alternative..." He slid forward tentatively. The lashing tail betrayed his nervousness. It thumped the ground and twisted around his ankle. Cautiously, he reached out to pet the mare's nose.

She waited with the patience of a long-suffering nanny.

When his fingers touched her snout, Kurt's eyes went wide. His mouth formed a little 'o' of surprise. "She's so soft. Himmel, she _is _like velvet."

Kitty smiled triumphantly. "Told you so."

A chorus of cheers went up from the onlookers. Several of them leaned over the fence to call out congratulations for Kurt's small but significant victory.

"Well done, fuzzy!"

"Good on ya!"

"We'll have ya ridin' in no time!"

"You mean _she'll_ have him riding in no time."

"Whoo-hoo! Get 'em tiger!"

"Let's hear it for the blue guy!"

Kurt blushed at their compliments, unused as he was to receiving them. He contented himself with scratching the mare's nose in an effort to ignore his furious blushing. Inside, however, he found himself pleased at the attention. His chest swelled a little with pride.

"And now it's time to get on her back."

It deflated like a pig's bladder. He looked up at Kitty in abject horror. "Get on her _back_? Nein! No way!"

Kitty made an irritated noise. "Well how else did you expect to ride? Hanging onto her tail?"

"Nein, but - "

"No 'buts' Kurt. You gotta learn quickly. Teah said Rogue'll be able to travel in a few days so you, like, gotta be confident enough to make a long journey on horseback by then." Her face softened at his terrified expression, and she held out her hand. "Hey, don't look so terrified. I'll help you."

Kurt looked at the proffered hand, and then back up at her face. Kitty's smile was warm and comforting. A part of him couldn't help but believe her when she said nothing bad would happen, though the rest of him said many naughty words when he thought it.

However, then he thought about just how big the horse was, and how much damage she could do him without even thinking about it, and his toes curled towards his heels.

A familiar head topped with red pigtails stretched over the fence. "What the matter, laddie? You chicken?"

The crowd immediately took up the chant.

"Chick-en! Chick-en! Bak-bak-bakaak!"

Kurt flushed again, skin turning so scarlet it was impossible not to notice the darkening fur around the cheeks. Instinctively, he shrank back into a defensive posture.

Kitty took one look at him and angrily turned on the baying bystanders. "Hey, shut up! Kurt's trying his hardest and all you lot can do is, like, insult him? You should all be ashamed of yourselves! I'll bet all of you've been scared of something before, and it wouldn't have helped you if someone, like, disrespected you instead of helping. So just - back off!"

The Underlings fell into a mixture of guilty and mutinous whispers. One or two looked suitably penitent, but not as many as she might have liked. One little boy even stuck out his tongue.

Kitty glared hotly, muttering under her breath, "Kajus!"

Kurt raised his eyebrows, both with surprise at her defending him and at her use of the Gehín word. When Kitty looked at him he hastily shifted his face into a more neutral expression, trying to ignore when Rahne surreptitiously tripped the boy who had stuck his tongue out. he went sprawling, and suddenly there were three of him, all indignant and making very rude gestures at her.

"Well?" Kitty asked, not unkindly. "Like to give it a go?"

Kurt swallowed and nodded. "Yes, you gestörtes Mädchen."

She rolled her eyes at his Germanic slip, but said nothing, instead bringing the mare forward and gesturing that he should climb on.

Kurt surveyed the mare. She was a doe-eyed, grey creature, with whitish dapples all over her hindquarters and thick, stocky legs. She was also by no means the smallest horse in the paddock. He appraised the other mounts with a discerning eye.

"Um, I don't mean to be rude, Kätzchen, but... couldn't I try on that one first? It seems a bit smaller."

Kitty looked at where he pointed to a bay gelding, docilely cropping grass a few metres away. He was right; it was smaller than the grey mare, but still she was dubious.

"Well, I dunno - "

"_Please,_ Kätzchen," Kurt pleaded. "Just humour me?"

"Heights have never bothered you before. Heck, you practically _lived_ in treetops before I met you."

"Ja," he was forced to concede, "but trees never walked while I was sitting in them."

Despite herself, Kitty gave a wry smile. "Point taken." She cast about to the crowd of Underlings, raising one hand and waving to them. "Hey, can any of you guys help fetch that bay over there. I'd go myself, but I kinda got my hands full here."

"Sure, Ah'll get 'im." A familiar tall, shaggy blonde head stood up and vaulted over the fence. He strolled over to the preferred horse, hands in the pockets of his robe. "Ah grew up on a farm, so Ah've had experience wit' hosses."

Kurt glowered as Sam Guthrie stretched out one willowy hand and casually rubbed the gelding's neck. It raised its head, mouth full of grass, and sniffed at his robes. Evidently it recognised his scent, because a happy whinny started up in his throat, bursting forth in a staccato beat as it hastily swallowed the grass. It nuzzled under his arm, then tugged on his sleeve and danced around him. Sam laughed and walked away. The gelding followed him like an obedient dog.

When boy and horse reached Kurt and Kitty, a wide grin was plastered across Sam's handsome face, and he made an extravagant bow – to the amusement of all the onlookers. Kurt was sure he heard Rahne whistle, but when he looked she only smirked at him, eyebrows raised in an expression he couldn't understand.

"How did you, like, get him to _do_ that?" Kitty asked, open-mouthed. Even at home, when riding on Alsin, her father's aged mare, she'd never been able to get the horse to just follow her without the use of a leading rein or rope.

Sam just grinned. "Magic, pretty missy. Magic."

"Don't listen to him!" Rahne yelled from the sidelines. "The big faker! He raised that beast from when it was just a foal. Stands to reason it'd follow him!"

Sam laughed and held up his hands in mock defeat. "Guess y'all caught me. Spider here still thinks a' me like his Ma. His real mother died when he were born, so Ah raised him mahself right from the word go."

"That's impressive," Kitty exclaimed.

Kurt's frown deepened, and he fought down the urge to growl.

"Aw shucks, tweren't nuthin'. Ah couldn't jus' let 'im die now, could Ah? You lookin' to ride 'im, Miss Kitty?"

"No, not me. Kurt." Kitty gestured at Kurt, who puffed himself up to appear taller next to Sam's long limbs.

Sam scratched his head. "Well... Ah guess Ah should warn y'all. Spider don't take too kindly to riders he don't know. Might cause a bit 'o trouble, if'n y'all know what Ah mean."

"I'll be fine," Kurt said briskly.

Sam, however, still seemed uncertain. "Well, if yer sure - "

"I am."

It was but the work of a few minutes for Sam to send one of the other Underlings for a bridle and other relevant riding equipment – or, as he called it, Spider's 'tack'. It was decided that neither Spider nor the mare – who they learned was called 'Bonita' – would wear a saddle to begin with, since Kurt's unusual physiognomy didn't really suit their curves, and he had to learn by copying Kitty's example.

Sam held onto both mounts, soothing them as the two riders, one experienced and one not, clambered up and found their seats.

It was at this point that Kitty found herself the source of many curious glances from the crowd, who pointed and stared at her with open interest. Looking down, she saw Sam was also fixing her with a slightly surprised gaze.

"What? What is it?" she asked, looking around in an effort to spot what was wrong.

"Well, forgive me fer sayin', Miss Kitty, but your seat ain't very... ah... ladylike. Shouldn't ya be sittin' side-saddle or sumthin'?"

Kitty glanced down at herself. She was sat astride Bonita's back as she'd always done on Alsin, knees bent slightly to accommodate the lack of stirrups. As a result her robes had ridden up, exposing quite a length of pale leg on either side.

A blush came to her cheeks as the jibes from childhood came back to haunt her. In that instant, she was a forlorn child again, trying desperately to be part of the Zanninsan children's gang, then being spurned as 'odd' and not worth their time unless as a source of amusement and spite.

"It's... it's how I've always done it," she murmured , almost inaudible. "I learned from my father, and he always sat this way." Several titters floated to her from the gathered youngsters. Her cheeks became hotter. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! You should've thought about this, Pryde. It's gonna be Zanninsa all over again. Oh gods, I'm so embarrassed._

Her eyes screwed shut without being ordered to, but snapped open again when an accented voice suddenly flew to her defence.

"Kitty ist sitting that way so that I can copy her more easily," Kurt said, loud enough that everyone could hear him. "Personlich, I think it's admirable that she's able to ride in both styles. Don't you, Herr Guthrie?"

Sam blinked unintelligently for a moment, and then caught on to what Kurt was doing. "Yeah. Yeah, s'real admirable. Ah know Ah couldn't sit side-saddle, an' Ah don't know no girls who could sit astride, but Kitty c'n do both. S'a real achievement, if'n ya ask me."

Kitty looked up at the both of them, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thank you," she mouthed, before tossing back her hair – now tied back into its favoured ponytail – and sitting straighter. "Right. Shall we get started?"

Kurt's smile faded. "Do we have to?"

"Yes."

He whimpered.

Sam released Bonita, but kept hold of Spider for the moment so that Kurt could watch without worrying about his mount running off.

Gently, Kitty nudged the dappled mare with her knees, easing her into a slow walk. Bonita was a comfortable ride, and Kitty soon fell into the right rhythm, swaying from side to side with each step.

"Now, despite what many riders will tell you, the best thing to do is guide your horse with your knees, not by kicking them with your feet. You _gently _apply pressure to the horse's sides. More pressure means you go faster. Simple really." She smiled encouragingly. "Now you try it, Kurt."

"Ah'll hold on an' lead Spider at first," Sam offered. "S'what Ah do wit' little 'uns when Ah teach 'em t'ride. Gives 'em a bit more confidence knowin' Ah'm there, if'n ya know what Ah mean."

But Kurt was having none of it. "No, I'll be fine, thank you," he said stiffly, to which Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Have ya ever been on a hoss before, Fuzzy?"

"The name's Kurt, not Fuzzy, and no, I haven't. But I don't need _your _help to learn."

Sam shook his head, blonde hair swishing about his neck. A mischievous smile played about his lips, but he hid it behind a hand."Well, all right then. But don't say Ah didn't warn ya 'bout Spider."

"I can handle him." Then, a little less certainly, Kurt added, "I'm sure I can."

Sam shrugged, let go of the gelding's bridle, and stood back. Kurt nodded, and then pressed his knees together, just as Kitty had instructed.

For a moment nothing happened. Kurt wondered whether he'd pressed hard enough. He nudged the horse again, this time more firmly. Spider gave a flick of his head, chewing at the bit between his teeth, but finally moved forward. His gait wasn't quite as smooth as Bonita's, but Kurt was so overjoyed at having made the beast actually move that he didn't notice.

"Good, Kurt," Kitty said from the other end of the paddock. "You're doing great."

A grin spread from pointy ear to pointy ear, as Kurt clutched at Spider's reins. Sam was closer than Kitty, and when he spoke he had only to drawl rather than shout. "You're grip's too tight, Fuzzy – nearly pullin' Spider's head off. Loosen up a bit. Give 'im some freedom. But not too much, mind. Remember, you're in charge, not 'im. Whatever ya do, don't let 'im ferget that."

Kurt didn't answer, but subtly shifted his grip to accommodate the other boy's advice. After all, Kitty might not have heard, and there was no point in going out of his way to appear foolish in front of her. Even if it did mean accepting guidance from Sam Guthrie.

His smile stayed glued in place until, quite suddenly, a rather unpleasant notion occurred to him. The grin vanished as he called out, "Kätzchen, how do I steer this thing?"

Kitty directed Bonita towards him and replied, "You use the reins. Gently tug either one side or the other to direct the horse's nose. A horse will always follow its nose, so if you can get that pointing in the direction you want then you've, like, got it made."

Still panicky, but unwilling to show it, Kurt swallowed his trepidation and tugged ever so slightly with his right hand. Spider ignored the timid order with a shake of his head and kept on going in a straight line.

"You've, like, gotta be firmer with him, Kurt. Otherwise he'll walk all over you, so to speak."

"Aye, show him who's boss, Elfy!" shouted a brogue that sounded distinctly like Rahne's. Kurt would have looked and glared, but his preoccupation with Spider was increasing as they neared a fence that the gelding showed no signs of stopping for or avoiding.

"Kätzchen!" Kurt yelped. "He won't listen to me!"

"_Firmer_, Kurt. You're the rider, so you give directions. You can't be, like, half-hearted about it and give floppy signals. Make each and every tug meaningful, like you mean business. Spider will understand what you want."

Kurt swallowed again, tightening his grip and then loosening it again when he remembered Sam's words. Instantly, his brows knitted. _Right, Spider_, he thought, _since you're Sam's horse you may not like me, but you are not going to make me look bad in front of Kätzchen! I refuse to be bettered by... an irritating beast of burden. You will do as I say – please?_

He tugged again with his right hand, pulling Spider's snout to face away from the fence. Spider snorted, but dutifully complied. They began walking back towards the centre of the paddock.

If possible, Kurt's grin stretched past his ears to end somewhere around the back of his skull. His eyes shone and his heart sang with triumph. He was doing it. He was actually riding.

"Kurt, you're doing it!" Kitty said delightedly, sidling up beside him.

His chest swelled more at her praise. "I am, aren't I?"

"Now we'll try stopping." Her hands flicked, bringing his attention to them. "Pull back gently with both hands, being careful not to yank at the horse's mouth – that hurts and they don't like it. The horse should stop then and wait for further instructions." She demonstrated. Bonita came to a halt without any fuss or bother. "Now you try it."

Kurt gulped, visions of not being able to stop filling his head, replete with broken bones, humiliating laughter from the sidelines and Kitty shaking her head, muttering about 'incompetent elves'. He hastily shook them away, instead concentrating on his hands and their correct equestrian form. Fervently he tried to remember all the information thrown at him since he was dragged to the paddock that morning. _Sit straight, eyes forward, don't stare at the back of his neck. Hand firm. Not too sloppy, tell him who's boss. Gently pull back, making sure not to hurt him, and hopefully... _He crossed his prehensile toes, since his fingers were busy.

Spider fixed him with one rebellious brown eye for a second, as if gauging whether or not to listen to the command. Kurt schooled his features into what he hoped was a authoritative expression, willing the horse to do as asked. Spider blinked, and gave a small hop-skip before stopping.

It was all Kurt could do to keep from Bamfing clean out of there and yelling 'Huzzah!' at the top of his voice. Applause spattered from the gathered Underlings, growing to a roar of appreciation and verbal backslapping as Kitty drew alongside him.

"Well done, Kurt." She reached over and laid a hand over his. "Well done."

In his entire life, Kurt had never been happier. "That wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. In fact, I feel quite exhilarated now. I could do it all over again."

"Good, because we're, like, gonna have to." Kitty pointed into the sky where the suns were performing their immutable daily dance. "We're working under a time limit here, remember? Sorry, Kurt."

"Don't apologise, Kätzchen." Kurt waved away her apologies, though inwardly he cursed his wayward tongue. "Can't be helped. Besides, you're a good teacher. I'm enjoying this lesson."

Kitty's eyes glittered with unspoken pleasure at the compliment. "Really? Well, perhaps I'd better teach you the next stage then."

_Verdammt! _"Next stage?"

"Uh-huh, trotting. It's relatively simple. Just a step up from walking. The only thing to worry about is getting your rhythm right, otherwise afterwards you, like, get a butt absolutely covered in bruises. Not nice, believe me."

Kurt snickered. "Sounds like you speak from experience, ja?"

"Ja."

"Well then, let's get started." He straightened up, readjusting his grip, which had slipped while he was talking. Spider pawed at the ground as the corners of his mouth were accidentally wrenched back and tossed his black mane irritably.

Kitty nodded. "You start off the same as with a basic walk, and then apply more pressure to speed up. With, like, regards to the rhythm... well, I don't know quite how to explain..."

"Miss Kitty, Ah reckon s'best to let 'im find out fer hisself." Sam called out, and then shrugged. "S'only way he'll know what feels wrong an' what feels right on 'is behind."

Kurt's top lip curled. _Very articulate, I'm sure._

"I suppose you're right, Sam," Kitty granted, glancing across at Kurt. "Kurt, I'll go first and show you what I mean with Bonita. Then you copy me on Spider, got it?"

"Ich verstehe. Okay, Kätzchen."

Kitty nudged the mare into a walk, letting her get a few feet away before nudging her again. Bonita took several steps, and then picked up her pace to trot blithely across the paddock.

Kurt watched through keen, hypersensitive eyes. He noted every movement, every nuance, storing them away to use for himself. He saw how Kitty rose and fell in her seat with every other step Bonita took, creating a rhythm between horse and rider that made them seem almost one, gestalt being. _If I could do that on my first lesson, surely Kätzchen would be impressed with me. _Another notion struck him, and a mischievous smile split his lips. _Impressed enough, perhaps, to forget all about Herr Guthrie._

The idea was crazy and born of confused emotions warring in his breast, but enough to snap his mind into action. He saw how Kitty pressed her legs against Bonita's sides with just enough force to make her move. Granted, his digigrade counterparts weren't the same shape as hers, but surely that wouldn't make much difference if he gave Spider the same signal, would it?

Tentatively, he bumped against the gelding's sides with his knees, hoping against hope that it would produce a favourable result.

It was then that Spider exhibited his true nature; the side that Sam had tried unsuccessfully to warn Kurt about. You see, amongst all the horses at The Temple of The Way, Spider had a special reputation. Many who had ridden him claimed he was a 'devil-beast', but Sam staunchly defended that he was in fact one of those few animals who possessed a sense of humour. His mind, Sam claimed, was more like a human's than many cared to realize – especially his uncanny ability to remember incidents and exact revenge. That was why he wasn't usually recommended as a beginner's mount.

In Layman's terms, Spider liked to play practical jokes.

The gelding fixed one mutinous brown eye upon Kurt, filled with an expression so intelligent and mischievous that it made the fur on his back stand on end. For a split-second, Kurt regretted choosing Spider instead of contenting himself with a placid beast like Bonita, but he had no more time to think about anything as the horse let out a whinny and bolted forward.

Thanks to his inexperience as a horseman, the reins slipped easily from Kurt's grasp and he snapped backwards with such force that he went tumbling head over heels, rolling off Spider's rump to land face-first in a pile of ablution some creature had been kind enough to leave there for him.

With a worried 'da-da-dum, da-da-dum, da-da-dum,' Kitty urged Bonita into a canter, pulling her up to halt next to the fallen elf. Across the paddock she could see Sam also running towards her, but there was something odd about the way he moved. His gait seemed lolloping and disjointed, and as he approached she realised why. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he laughed at Spider's antics and the fate that had befallen the unfortunate Kurt as a result.

Kitty swung her leg over Bonita's back, jumping down with practised ease and peering with concern at Kurt. He was lying where he'd fallen, a pathetic heap of blue fur and pink, besmirched fabric. Incongruous to Sam's peals of laughter, Kurt was incredibly still. Kitty fancied she couldn't even see his chest moving. And were his legs, like, supposed to bend that way, or was it just her imagination?

Anxiety filled her as she spoke softly, hoping he was all right – oh gods, please let him be all right! – and could hear her. "Kurt? Kurt, are you okay? Speak to me Kurt. Kurt, speak to me!" She tried to keep her voice strong, but couldn't help a note of panic creeping into it.

Sam drew closer. Seeing the look on her face, his good-humour died in his throat. He, too, looked down at the pitiable bundle. "Fuzzy?" he ventured, voice uncertain.

There was no response.

Kitty pushed Bonita's reins into the Underling's hands and crouched down. "Kurt? Kurt?"

"Spider's never done nuthin' like this 'afore." Sam said, a faltering edge to his tone. "He played a few tricks, sure, but no-one never got injured. Least, not this bad. Fuzzy, wake up. Wake up!"

Kitty's eyes shone with unshed tears, as she reached out and shook one stained shoulder. "I shouldn't have pushed him to ride. I shouldn't have pushed things so fast. It's all my fault. Kurt? Please..."

Suddenly, Kurt moved.

Kitty's hand jerked back of its own accord, and she, Sam, and the group of onlookers watched with perverted curiosity as the 'body' raised its face out of the smelly mess and propped itself up on its elbows.

Kurt's face was a chaos of knarled fur, clumps of dung and uprooted grass. He wiped a globule of the unpleasant concoction from his mouth, spitting it onto the ground with an expression of disgust. He looked up at Kitty, then at Sam. Finally, his eyes traced across the paddock to where Spider looked on, totally unperturbed about the smelly predicament he'd created. Kurt frowned, and glared hot liquid death at the horse.

"That's it, I'm walking!"

* * *

Ororo walked sedately along the winding corridor, passing numerous Underlings and Initiates, giving each a token nod of greeting as she passed. In turn, they gave the required response to the Temple Mother and went on their way. Nobody asked where she was going, and she made no demands of anyone else. It was a comfortable quiet.

At last she arrived at her destination, a large wooden door embedded so well into the grey stonework of the wall that it was almost like it had grown there. You half-expected to see vines and creepers snaking their way up the slats and curling around the handle in the way nature always claimed back what was rightfully hers.

_Strange_, Ororo thought idly, _I seem to have spent a great deal of time here lately. And I don't even get sick._

Soberly, she pushed open the Infirmary door, not leaving it to crash open like, oh, to pick a random name out of the air, Underling Jubilee would have, but not quite as timid as many would've done considering the one sheltered within.

A knife buried itself in the wall mere inches from her head. It quivered, handle still shaking from the force of its launch, and a thin spider-like crack spreading around its tip. Ororo took an involuntary step back, eyes sliding from the embedded blade to the one who'd thrown it.

Rogue sat in her bed, frowning. Her arms were folded, and she glared menacingly at the small, rather blunt weapon that'd so recently been in her possession.

"Mah aim's off," She announced. "I'm getting sloppy." Abruptly, her eyes slid sideways. "Oh, hello Temple Mother."

Ororo simply gaped, gaze flicking from the knife to Rogue, and then back to the knife again.

Evidently, Rogue guessed her line of thought, because she said dispassionately, "Hey, they send cutlery up with mah food. It's like telling me to throw 'em. Besides," she gestured towards the door, "I need to keep in practise."

At last Ororo found her voice. "Yes, but can you at least aim at something other than the door? You nearly gave me a heart attack just then."

"I very much doubt that." As if to emphasize her point, Rogue deftly threw another knife from the collection in her hand. It pinioned the doorframe right above Ororo's head with a dull 'thunk', and quivered with a melodic hum.

Looking around, Ororo spotted several more in various places around the frame, creating a sort-of outline of the door. "Where exactly did you _get _all these knives?" she asked with barely concealed amazement. Giving someone with Rogue's track record a clutch of knives was like strapping a slab of raw meat to your head and walking into a lion's den in the middle of a raging famine. "The kitchens surely can't have sent you all of them."

"Let's just say, Initiate Ashari got kinda sick of mah whining and sent down a special request." A smirk quirked the corners of Rogue's mouth. "She's just _so _considerate, doncha think?"

"And where exactly is Initiate Ashari now?"

She shrugged. "How the heck should I know? As per your orders, lady, I'm confined to bed. All I know is, she ain't here. You want anything more than that you'd best send out a search party or something."

Ororo sighed. Just because The Rogue could be considerate in some ways didn't mean she wasn't just as prickly and ill-tempered in others.

Gracefully, the dark-skinned woman crossed the room and perched herself on the end of the bed. "So how are you holding up?"

Rogue snorted. "Concerned about me? That's a first."

"Actually, I thought that, since your friends are currently engaged, you might appreciate a bit of company."

"They ain't mah friends, and thanks, but no thanks. The only company I like is mah own."

"Oh really?" Ororo said slyly. "That wasn't the impression I got when you were pouring your heart out to Kurt and Kitty last night. You wouldn't let either of their hands go until well after you'd fallen asleep."

Rogue scowled and folded her arms. "That was different. I... wasn't mahself then."

Ororo shook her head. "On the contrary, Marie. I think you were being quite yourself. The self you've denied since you were outcast. The self you've buried for so long under your 'dangerous' exterior. The self you've never let anyone see since Piet - "

"Shut up! Just shut up!" Rogue's eyes flashed. "If'n y'all just came up here to insult me, then you can just leave 'afore I chuck you outta that there window, Temple Mother or not! Marie's dead! That ain't me no more! I'm The Rogue, and don't you forget it, neither!"

Ororo calmly held up her hands in the worldwide signal of conciliation. "Fine, _Rogue_, but answer me this. If that persona isn't yours anymore, then why were you travelling to Belvedere to try and retrieve part of it?"

"Because I - " Rogue faltered for a moment, mouth open and waiting for the retort she didn't have. After a second she shut it with a rebellious 'humph'.

Ororo sighed again. "Rogue, I know you've been through a lot, and I feel your pain - "

"Do you? Do you _really_?" The venom in Rogue's voice would have equalled any snake's in potency. "I doubt you've ever been cast out of your home and everything you know simply because you stood up for what was right. Huh, I gave up fighting for what was right a long time ago, lady. Now I only fight for me. For mah survival, and nothing else. And if that means going to Belvedere, then so be it. I ain't falling for none of your mind-tricks. I go where I wanna go, and there's nothing else to it."

"What about Kurt and Kitty?"

"What about 'em?"

"They look up to you as their leader. Would you just abandon them to pursue your own desires?"

Rogue blinked. "Now why would they go and do a stupid thing like that? Me, their leader?" She scoffed at the idea.

Now it was Ororo's turn to shrug. "Don't ask me. I know a lot of things, but why they'd choose someone as blatantly selfish and self-absorbed as you for their leader is beyond me."

The green eyes darkened again. "How dare you. I am _not _selfish with them. I'd go outta mah way to protect those two little idiots! I care about them! I... oh gods!" A hand flew to her mouth as she realised what she'd said.

"You care about them," Ororo repeated, refusing to let it slide. There was a triumphant edge to her words, like she'd just won a battle of wits against the God of Wisdom himself.

"No, I didn't mean it. I'm The Rogue. I live on mah own, and the rest of the world can go rot in the Seventh Hell for all I care." Rogue's words were defensive, but their timbre desultory, lacking the vigour with which she might once have spoken them.

Ororo spoke softly, soothingly. "You don't really believe that anymore, do you, Rogue? In your heart of hearts, you know it."

For a moment it looked as though Rogue would strike her. There was a ferocity in her eyes that promised pain – then she hung her head in momentary defeat. "But I ain't _supposed _to care 'bout nothing. I'm _The Rogue_. Scourge of The Guild of Assassins and feared in every land in Earth-Realm. I'm dirt. Less than dirt. I'm nobody. _Nothing_!"

"Does that mean you aren't allowed to feel?" Ororo challenged. "You must face facts, child. Just because your name has changed doesn't mean you're not the same person on the inside. You're still alive, which means you are a _somebody_, and so allowed to experience emotion just like anybody else. It's a basic right we're all privy to, and you're no exception, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself otherwise. The fact that you accepted your part as a soul-bearer speaks for itself on that front."

Rogue looked up at her, a curious expression worming around the periphery of her face. "But I couldn't exactly get away from that. Not with the prophecy and everything. Mah nightmares..."

"Yes, but you encouraged Kitty to see the light also. You acted like a leader."

Rogue looked like she was about to say something else, but instead she snapped her mouth shut and whirled round to savagely fling another knife into the doorframe. It missed by miles and instead hit the wall so high up it would probably never be fetched down again.

"Damn!"

Ororo found herself talking to the back of the girl's head, but persevered nonetheless. "Rogue, I can't tell you what to feel. That's something you must find out for yourself. But I'll tell you this much; you protected those two like they were your own against the Displacer Beast, and you could've easily just done nothing. You could've just walked away when it didn't know you were there, but instead you chose to help them. It was your decision, not fate, nor destiny, nor divine intervention. You. And that counts, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not. I won't bother you any further, since it's obvious you wish to be left alone, but I'd advise you to think on that."

She rose to go, and was halfway to the skewered door when a gruff voice rapped out, "You argue a good case, lady. I'll think about it."

Ororo didn't turn around. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Yeah, you do that – daughter of Ajudan."

At once, Ororo froze. The blood in her veins turned to ice, and her voice, when used, was croaky and disbelieving. "How do you know who I am?"

She could hear the rustle of fabric as Rogue lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "Let's just say I remembered a few other things whilst I was asleep. Things from way back."

Slowly, Ororo turned to look at her. The mouth was curved, and the green eyes, though still confused by their own emotions, were dancing with the upper hand they held.

"It seems I ain't the only one with a mysterious past, don't it? You been lying to a lot of people, lady."

Ororo regarded her regally, as begot her heritage. "Not lying, exactly. Divine law meant I'm not allowed to tell them the truth. But, as you've found out, there are other ways of learning about my true identity. Or should I say, my old identity."

Rogue shook her head and let out a long breath. "I just don't get it. Y'all used to be so powerful, but you gave it all up in an instant to live in poxy old Earth-Realm."

A faint smile tugged at Ororo's lips. "Love makes a person do strange things – crazy things – as you well know."

"Yeah. Guess I do." Rogue's features became pensive as she considered the implications of that statement. "Guess I do, at that."

When no further comment seemed forthcoming, Ororo turned to go, but Rogue piped up again. It seemed that the dreams of her past had loosened her tongue in a way that nothing else could, and she was no longer the monosyllabic girl Kurt had wheedled and pleaded to join with in The Black Forest – though elements of that character remained.

"I'm gonna get him back, y'know. Mah mission to Belvedere's altered a bit, and I'll do what I can regarding Rei-Shima, but I still stand by what I said. I ain't leaving Pietro there. I damn well refuse to."

"You talk like he's still alive," Ororo inserted gently.

"That's because I refuse to believe he's dead unless I've seen proof for mahself. I'm not dumb. I know all the stories about what happens in Belvedere. I know how cruel The Silver Sword's reputation makes him out to be. But I ain't giving Pietro up for lost if there's still a chance he can be saved." Her voice dropped to a low murmur. "He woulda done the same for me."

"And what exactly do you plan to do if and when you retrieve him? Walk out of Belvedere? If The Silver Sword has a stake in this boy of yours – and he undoubtedly does if he's kept him alive this long – then he most certainly won't let him, or you, go free. And if Kurt and Kitty are with you, then most likely they'll suffer the same fate."

"They wouldn't," Rogue said flatly, "because I wouldn't let them come with me."

"You know you can't do that, Rogue. Both of them are important to the resurrection of Rei-Shima – you can't just leave them behind when you go to face The Silver Sword. Besides which, the Guild hunters will no doubt still pursue you even if you do escape. Is it worth also putting Pietro's life at risk, just to keep him near you? Or maybe..." she paused, considering, "maybe you intended to die beside him all along. Maybe you never had any intention of ever leaving Belvedere. Is that it, Rogue? Is this a suicide mission you've embarked upon?"

"Look," Rogue said wearily, "I'm aware of the repercussions mah course of action'll create, but y'all have to understand mah point of view here. You of all people, Ororo, know what it's like having someone you love – someone you'd give up anything, and do anything for. Pietro ... I'm not the most lyrical of people, but I couldn't get past each sunrise in one piece, not knowing if there was something I could've done for him if I'd just had the guts to _try_. I'll admit, I hadn't really thought about the whole 'afterwards' thing, but I guess I'll cross that there bridge when I come to it. I've done it before, and if needs be, I'll do it again, but I ain't going down without a fight, and I ain't going down without even trying to rescue him. For me, Earth-Realm just wouldn't be the same without him. He's mah north, mah south, mah east and mah west, all wrapped up into one, and I really _would _be a nobody if I abandoned him."

Ororo considered her for a moment. "I never had you pegged for a poet."

Rogue looked up at her sharply. "What? Why're you staring at me like that?" she demanded, a trace of her old savagery returning.

"I was just thinking about what an admirable quality your loyalty is. Tell me, what was your Guild title?" At Rogue's tight expression, she added, "Remember, you're still the same person inside. Nobody can take that, or your memories away from you. Not even the Guild of Assassins."

Another long pause. Then, "Steadfast. Marie the Steadfast."

Another barrier came crashing down with an almost audible smash. Ororo smiled triumphantly, and wasn't surprised when it was returned.

* * *

Kitty drew the currycomb along Bonita's side, straightened up and wiped her forehead with one pink sleeve.

"Phew. What a workout."

"Y'all said it, Miss Kitty." Sam walked through the door-less doorway with a trademark grin plastered across his face. He was dirty and sweaty, but seemed to exude an affable air nonetheless.

"Sam," Kitty greeted, then asked needlessly, "are you still here?"

"Last time Ah checked. Ah never leave 'till all the hosses are taken care of and put away properly fer the night." He walked into a small anteroom set behind a stray, upended bale of hay. With a grunt, he levered the saddle in his arms onto a high shelf and sighed with relief as his arms were freed of its considerable weight.

Thinking no more conversation was forthcoming, Kitty went back to grooming Bonita, focusing on the mare's dappled hide and brushing all the minuscule particles of dirt out of it. Presently, a bristly swishing told her that Sam had found the broom and was sweeping all the excess hay from the tack room.

"So where's yer fuzzy little friend?" Sam asked at length, voice neutral.

"Unfortunately for him, Underling Tabitha finished her chores early and came looking for him. She, like, totally insisted on getting some salve for his saddle sores – _and _rubbing it on him herself." Despite herself, Kitty giggled.

"Why do Ah get th' feelin' that's a bad thing?"

"Let's just say that Kurt doesn't exactly welcome Underling Tabitha's advances."

"Ya mean, he practically runs fer th' hills whenever she shows up."

Another giggle. "Pretty much."

"Boy, do Ah know what that feels like."

Kitty raised her head, turning to look at him. "She tried the same with you?"

"Yup. Little over a year ago now. Tabby landed in the temple around that time, and guess who got th' job of showin' her round? Damn girl was practically attached t'mah leg fer three months straight."

"So how come she gave up the chase if she was so, uh, attached to you?"

A wry grin split Sam's face. "We got a new batch of Changelings, one or two of whom were easier on th' eye than me. She ain't looked back since. Somethin' Ah'm eternally grateful fer."

Kitty laughed, a tinkling, musical sound.

Sam paused for a second. "Y'all gotta real pretty laugh," he said at length. Then he quickly went back to swiping the floor with smooth, even strokes.

Kitty blinked. "Thanks. I think."

Sam made an indistinguishable noise and continued sweeping.

Time passed, as it was wont to do. Eventually Kitty stood up, wiping perspiration from her eyes and absently patting Bonita's neck. She felt one or two vertebrae crack and shift back into position, and let out a sigh of relief as her muscles – cramped from a whole day on horseback – stretched and lengthened accordingly. After making sure the grey mare was properly fed and watered, she made her way to the stall entrance, swinging the door shut behind her.

On impulse, she pattered down a few stalls and peered in on Spider, who was casually munching on his feed. He looked the picture of innocence, like the prized pony of a soft merchant's daughter.

"That look fools a lotta people. Got it perfected, he has."

Kitty jumped and whirled around. "Sam! You startled me." He'd been so quiet she'd thought he had left while she was still grooming Bonita, and approached her on catfeet.

Sam looked guilty for a moment. "Sorry 'bout that. Didn't mean to scare ya none, Miss Kitty." His gaze shifted past her to the bay gelding. "Ah reckon Spider and Fuzzy are startin' to like each other. After a fashion. Now they both got over their differences, that is."

Kitty's ponytail bobbed up and down. "I know what you mean. I didn't think Kurt was, like, ever gonna forgive Spider for the whole dung incident, but they seemed to have worked things out by the end."

"Damn straight. Ah raised Spider since he were a foal, an' Ah done never seen 'im warm to nobody so fast as Fuzzy. Must be th' fur. Common ground an' all."

"And the tail. Though I don't think Kurt would agree with you right now. Normal saddles just aren't built to accommodate someone of his... um..."

"Unique shape?"

"Yeah. He swears he's pulled something. Kept going on about having a new bald spot on his butt until Underling Tabitha dragged him away. I'll bet he's, like, sorry he was so verbal about it now, but he was the one who wanted to try riding with a saddle, so he's only got himself to blame." She spread her hands wide to emphasize her point.

"People in glass houses, huh?"

"Exactly!"

Sam laughed and leaned backwards on the wall next to Spider's stall door. He folded his arms, staring off into space for a long second. Kitty could easily visualise a stalk of grass dangling from his mouth, though there was nothing there.

She went back to watching Spider, who stared back at her with a distinct 'and why exactly are you still staring at me?' expression in his unusually intelligent brown eyes.

She could have left – and probably should have – but something stopped her. Some intangible force that also made her lean over the edge of the stall door and call Spider over for an ear-scratch. She couldn't explain it, but after the turmoil of last night, the little respite of calm was much appreciated in order to gather her thoughts.

She still couldn't quite believe it. Ororo's story seemed s far-fetched, and yet...

Her father had always said his little 'Shadowcat' was destined for great things, but she'd never really believed him. After he and her mother died she'd consigned herself to living alone, with no hope of a brighter future, and his affectionate pseudo-prophecies had become even more remote. That is, until Rogue and Kurt quite literally dropped into her life.

Kurt...

Kitty had long since ceased to be frightened of the fuzzy blue elf, but the fear that had once permeated her being had been replaced with something else. Some strange, ambiguous emotion she couldn't quite discern properly. It was new to her, and consequently she mistrusted it. As a result, her thoughts about Kurt were rather jumbled, and lacked precision. Unlike with Rogue, where what you saw was what you got.

_Or perhaps not_, she mused. _Rogue's got more skeletons in her closet than me and Kurt put together._

Kitty sighed. She'd been grudgingly aware of the strange bond between the three of them long before Ororo told them of Rei-Shima and Calorsiel's prophecy. Even so, the Temple Mother's information had knocked her for quite a loop. Despite outward appearances, it had taken many hours of lying in bed thinking things over to truly come to terms with their fate; their destiny.

She was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she failed to notice the hand until it alighted on her shoulder, making her jump.

"Miss Kitty - " Sam began tentatively, but instinctively Kitty had already spun round and backhanded his cheek. He stumbled backwards with a shocked expression.

Kitty gasped. "Oh gods, Sam, I'm so sorry!"

Sam clutched at his face where he could sense a new bruise starting up. "Uh..." He shook his head. "S'alright. Shoulda talked 'afore Ah touched. Man, you hit hard fer a girl."

It took three more apologies before Kitty was satisfied. "Here, let me have a look at that," she insisted. Against Sam's protests, she peeled his fingers away, inspecting the damage. Instantly her expression became guilty again. "That's gonna, like, totally leave a mark. I'm so sorry, I just didn't think."

"It don't matter. Ah'll tell people Ah was defendin' you from a wild beastie."

"I don't think Spider would appreciate being called a wild beastie."

At the sound of his name, Spider leaned over the stall door, watching the two humans with a detached, uninterested air, mouth moving rhythmically on his dry feed.

"No, that's a title more suited ta Wulf," Sam said.

Kitty's looked puzzled at the name. Her brows arched and her forehead wrinkled. "Wulf?"

Sam frowned, forehead a furrow in which you could plant potatoes. "Wildest damn hoss Ah ever did have th' displease t'meet," he replied soberly. "Now that's a _real _wild beastie." He looked down at her, face thoughtful. "Ah c'n, uh... I c'n show ya if'n ya like."

Kitty looked towards the door. The desire to go back inside the Temple was not strong, and her curiosity was aroused. "Sure," she shrugged, totally missing the pleased spark that flared in Sam's eyes. "Lead the way."

Sam led her down to the other end of the stables, out of a small side door and into another, rather removed and exceptionally sturdy building. There he paused, looking warily at the door. To the trained onlooker it would have been obvious that he was wondering about the rashness of his offer. "Don't often bring folks t'see Wulf. Mostly they be afeared of him – an' with good reason, too. Ain't seen a nastier beast in all mah days."

"Sounds dangerous."

"He is. But Ororo refuses t'get rid of him. Heart of gold, she has. But personally, Ah reckon she's wrong 'bout Wulf. That's how come he got his name - 'cause he's wild as a mountain-wolf an' twice as fierce. Ain't nobody Ah know ever bin able t'ride 'im, though he is broken in and used ta wearin' a saddle."

Kitty's forehead puckered. "Then how did he come to be here at the temple if he's so dangerous?"

"Hoss dealer passin' through sold 'im t'us along with Spider's mama. Man, Ah'm tellin' ya, he were a sorry specimen when he arrived. Her too. She were heavy with foal already, an' couldn't hardly stay standin' long enough t'give birth. That's why she died an' left Spider in mah hands so young. Wulf, on th' other hand, were a fighter to th' core. Kicked an' bucked 'is way clean into that there stall – wouldn't let nobody touch 'im fer days. Tried t'bite 'em if'n they did, an' took a fair few chunks outta folk 'afore he calmed down enough t'be cleaned up an' fed an' watered. Talk about bitin' th' hand that feeds ya!"

"But... he's all right now?"

"Heck no. Wulf'll still rip a chunk out ya if given th' chance. He jus' don't get so many chances no more. Save fer th' 'ssentials like food n' drink, ain't no more contact with th' dang beast. He even only gets let out into th' paddock when none of th'other hosses are round 'cause we be afeared of 'im hurtin' 'em."

Kitty gulped. "Perhaps we shouldn't look in on him then, if he's as wild as you say."

Sam's mouth twisted into a sardonic line. "Naw. He don't mind ya'll lookin'. It's jus' touchin' an' stuff he don't agree with. Shame really." He shook his head sadly. "Wulf's th' strongest, most powerful hoss in th'whole stable. Would've made a fine mount an' a great stud if'n he hadn't been mistreated so early on in life." He clicked his tongue. "Ah well. Let's take a gander, shall we?" He knocked the catch off the upper door and pressed both palms against it

"Sam, I'm not sure that's such a..." Kitty started to protest as it creaked open, but the words caught in her throat as she beheld the creature within. "... good idea."

Wulf was a huge stallion, giant by anyone's standards, and pitch black from nose to tail-tip. The raw energy in his muscles seemed to ooze off him as he turned his massive head to fix cold, intelligent eyes upon the two humans who dared to disturb his solitude. Even without initiating any aggressiveness there was a certain brutality to his gaze – the promise of belligerence. His eyes were hard as diamonds, and calculating – a far cry from either Bonita's gentle gaze or Spider's mischievousness. Even the sweep of Wulf's long eyelashes seemed imbued with a savageness long-since tamed out of ordinary horses.

Wulf was far from ordinary. Very far, even to the most untrained eye. He appeared like some hell beast of ancient legend; the fabled mount of the Angel of Death itself.

"Wulf," Sam proclaimed in an almost reverent whisper.

"He's beautiful," Kitty breathed, not taking her eyes off the magnificent stallion. In return, he regarded her only with apathy.

"Don't be fooled, princess. Wulf's as dangerous as they come, an' then some."

"He just seems so... perfect. I've never seen anything so gorgeous in all my life." She took a step forward and craned her neck to see more of the black horse. This was a loose box, with plenty of room to move, but still, he literally dominated the space. He had a commanding air, like the mount of a general or captain of the guard to some fine emperor. It was enthralling, intoxicating, but at the same time also deeply, deeply frightening.

Kitty blinked as the wooden door promptly swung shut in front of her.

"Ah have."

There was something in Sam's voice; something new and timid that hovered on the edge of his tone, waiting to be allowed in. Kitty noticed that his Adam's-apple was bobbling up and down nervously, and saw with curiosity the beads of sweat beginning to collect on the skin of his temples and fall like dewdrops into his hair. He looked a little peaky.

"Sam, are you, like, all right?"

"Yeah," he wheezed, not taking his eyes from her. They were standing very close, Kitty noted absently, and she had to virtually crane her neck back to meet his gaze.

A small knot manifested in the pit of her stomach, and, try as she might to quash it, it grew larger with every passing second that he stared at her, swirling and grinding against the wall of her gut.

Sam coughed uncertainly. "Uh, Miss Kitty, Ah... Ah ain't quite sure how t'say this but... but Ah... Aw dang, Ah think you're real pretty, an'... an' Ah was kinda hopin' that y'might be interested... what Ah mean t'say is, uh..."

Kitty reached out and touched his hand in what she hoped was a comforting manner. "What is it, Sam? What's wrong?" She looked down. "You're trembling! Are you coming down with a fever? Perhaps we should get you inside where it's warmer - "

"Naw, Miss Kitty. Ah'm plenty warm as it is." He swallowed, throat bouncing.

"But Teah can - "

He pressed a finger to her lips and made a shushing noise. The knot in Kitty's midriff tightened. It was joined by an inexplicable feeling of dread, which increased when Sam blushed at the contact.

They stayed that way for several moments, a vague breeze ruffling their hair, making the fluttering strands the sole movement between them. Sam's fingertips slipped slowly from Kitty's lips, trailing down to be joined by his other hand in cupping her face. Her pulse, quick and erratic, beat beneath her skin, denoting the life-vein encased within the soft flesh of her throat.

Gently, he leaned forward, head tilted slightly and with half-lidded eyes. Kitty felt his breath blow softly into her mouth as he drew closer, and found herself involuntarily tipping her neck the other way to better accommodate his advance.

His hands' touch was warm, but somehow there was something wrong with it. It was too smooth, yet not silky enough. Her flesh ached for a touch of a different sort. The touch of ticklish velveteen, brushing her skin so lightly and delicately as to be mistaken for a butterfly's whisper. It craved after the feeling of downy fur, and she found herself longing to know whether lips could be furry...

Sam was so close as to see the creases in Kitty's lip-flesh when she abruptly pulled away, averting her gaze and muttering something inaudible.

"Miss Kitty?"

"I'm sorry, Sam." She pushed his hands away, and they dropped to his sides. "I truly am, but... but I can't..."

Sam wasn't stupid. He recognised her reaction, and cursed himself in several different languages for his lack of insight. Self-consciously, he also bowed his head. "Y'all belong to another," he said flatly.

"Not exactly."

He held up his hands. "S'alright, princess. Ah should've guessed a gal as pretty as you would already be taken." A wry smile crept across his unkissed lips. "Guess Ah should apologise t'ya now. Ah'm sorry. Ah didn't think. Suppose Ah just hoped... whut with th' way ya kept lookin' at me an' all... Ah mean, Ah'm not exactly well-versed in courtship, but -" He stopped when Kitty's shoulders began to shake. "Miss Kitty?"

No answer save for a muffled sob.

Sam reached out and gently tilted her chin upwards. Kitty gazed back at him, unshed tears making her eyes bright and giving them an ethereal, almost otherworldly quality.

"Miss Kitty, what's th' matter? You ailin' fer sumthin'?"

"No, it's just..." Kitty sniffed. "I'm sorry Sam, I didn't realise I was leading you on. I feel awful."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Why do Ah get th' feelin' y'ain't cryin' 'cause of me? Come on, missy, spill it. What's up? What's really th' matter?"

"Nothing - "

"Don't patronize me, pumpkin. Ah want th' truth. Why're you cryin'? Is it 'cause of this guy yer taken with?"

She sniffed again, wishing she had a hankie or something to make herself more feminine, instead of snorting and snotting all over the place. "Yes... and no. It... it _is _about this... this person, but we aren't... I'm not _with _him, exactly..."

"An therein lies th' problem, right?" Sam surmised. He put a friendly, painfully platonic arm about her shoulders. "Wanna talk to 'ole Sam 'bout it? P'raps Ah c'n help."

"That's really kind, but I, like, doubt it. This guy, he's involved with... he's taken with someone else."

"But ya like 'im anyways. That what hurts so much?"

"Yeah," Kitty sighed.

"An' there was me thinkin' complicated love triangles were jus' part of romance scrolls."

"It's not love. I don't think. Well, maybe. I'd like to know, but I want him to be happy, I really do. I just wish he could be happy with me instead of Jubilee."

At the sound of his friend's name, Sam goggled. "Wait a gosh darn second, did you jus' say _Jubilee_?" He sounded incredulous. As far as he was aware, Jubilee didn't have any romance in her life at present. He also knew that, if any were to appear, he and Rahne would be the first to know, since Jubes wouldn't be able to keep her crowing to herself for long. No doubt her two friends would be sick of the news long before anybody else found out about it.

Kitty looked at the ground and scuffed her foot. "Uh-huh. She and Kurt are - "

"Whoa there, princess." Sam blinked again, first in confusion, and then in final realisation of what Kitty was getting at. "Am Ah right in believin' that these unrequited affections o'yours are fer the fuzz-ball?"

Kitty's voice came out a subdued whisper. "Yes. But he doesn't even know about it. He's too smitten with Jubilee to notice how I feel. They're practically inseparable. And who could blame him for liking her? I mean, it's not like she ran screaming when she first met him."

Sam shook his head and pulled her sideways towards a spare hay bale near the doorway back into the main stables. "C'mon pumpkin, Ah'm thinkin' you need t'sit down fer a minute."

Sam sat awkwardly, like a heron trying out a sparrow's perch, but made the best of it as he tried to comfort Kitty and understand exactly what was going on. Several idle chats with both Jubilee and Rahne had gleaned a little information as to Kurt's romantic interests, as well as a few death-threats if he spilled said information to Kitty. 'Letting nature take its course', those two girls had called it, to which Sam had rolled his eyes and muttered something along the lines of 'women and their flights of fancy', and then promptly been chased out of the room. At the time he hadn't told them it was only because of his own interest in Kitty that he was keeping their secrets, but now he was seriously revising his thoughts on the situation given what the Kitty herself had just told him.

_Man, has she got it wrong. Ah know love is blind an' everythin', but couplin' Fuzzy with Jubes? I'd laugh if she didn't look so damn sad 'bout the idea. _"Now, tell me Miss Kitty, what makes ya think Fuzzy and Little Miss Firecracker are an item?"

"Just look at them! They're practically joined at the hip! Kurt used to be just _my _friend - well, mine and Rogue's. But as soon as we got here _she _laid claim to him."

"Ah think you're overreactin' a bit there, missy. As far as Ah c'n see, most of th' time you're along with the two of them wherever they go, an' in whatever they do. When do they ever get the chance t'be romantic?"

Kitty bit her lip. "Well... I don't know, but they must do. They're so _close_. If you just look at them, it's as plain as the nose on my face."

"What's his favourite colour?"

"Huh? What's that got to do with anything?" She looked up at him, puzzled, but Sam remained serious.

"Jus' answer th' question, princess. Whut's Fuzzy's favourite colour?"

Still bemused, Kitty answered without hesitation. "Strangely enough, white – though blue comes a close second."

"Favourite food?"

"Well, he loved dripping after he tried it in Zanninsa, but mushrooms go down pretty well, too."

"What's he most scared of?"

"Mountain lions. Why?"

"Miss Kitty, Ah known Jubes since forever, it seems, an' Ah know fer a fact that she don't know anything like that 'bout the fuzz-ball. Believe me, if'n she did, Ah'd know. That gal couldn't keep her mouth shut if there were a ban on talkin' in Earth-Realm."

"I don't get where you're going with this, Sam. Care to enlighten me?"

Sam sighed. "Look, Miss Kitty, Ah think Ah c'n say with perfect certainty that Jubilee is not romantically involved with th' elf, no matter what y'all think different 'bout th' matter."

"Don't be dense. She must be. Haven't you seen them together? Haven't you seen how close he gets to her, and how _friendly _he is?" The word had extra special emphasis.

"Maybe he's jus' a friendly kinda guy," Sam shrugged, and then looked at her with shrewd eyes. "Or maybe he's tryin' t'make ya jealous."

"Jealous? Me?" Kitty stuck out her tongue, showing what she thought of the idea. "Why would he do something like that?"

"Probably fer th' same reason Ah tried t'kiss ya jus' now," Sam said with a small smile.

Kitty took a breath to say something, but stopped short, letting the air in her lungs trickle through the tiny 'o' her mouth had become. She stared off into space, mind working busily and emotions warring behind her eyes. Sam's words sank into her like a stone tossed into a tar pit, and she struggled to come to grips with the idea he'd implanted. After all, she'd been so sure...

_Kurt, were you trying to make me jealous because of Sam? Is that why I feel so mixed up inside when I think about you? Or was I trying to make you jealous because of Jubilee? Have I been using Sam? I didn't realize if I was – but then, I must've done, otherwise why would I think it now? Ugh, I'm so confused._

Sam watched her, and then stood up, brushing wayward bits of straw and dirt from his already filthy robes. He gave a long sigh. "It's nearly dinner time. No point in tryin' to understand stuff on an empty stomach." He offered her a hand, which she stared at for several blank seconds.

"Sam, tell me truthfully – do you think Kurt likes me?"

"Ah know he likes ya, Miss Kitty. Otherwise he wouldn't've invited ya t'join him an' Rogue on their journey."

"No, I mean _likes me _likes me. _That _way."

"T'ain't mah place t'say, Miss Kitty, but Ah'll tell ya this," his smile hurt, "he's a dang fool if'n he don't."

Kitty gazed up at him, expression unreadable. Then a smile quirked the corners of her mouth, and she grasped the proffered hand. "Thanks, Sam. Thanks a lot."

"Aw shucks, Miss Kitty. T'weren't nuthin'."

* * *

To Be Continued...

* * *

_**Germanic Translations:**_

Ich lehne ab! Es ist gefährlich! Ich werde nicht es tun! – I refuse! It's dangerous! I will not do it!

Gestörtes Mädchen – Annoyed Girl

Ich verstehe – I understand


	20. Interlude

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Interlude: Hot Pursuit, Cold Heart

* * *

Four figures crept through the shadows of the night. Three followed, one led, dominating the environment with more than just his great size. Authority seemed to tangibly drip from his body, eking out of his mouth as his breath wisped into the dark air. Yet along with it came something else – something feral, and completely savage. It trailed behind him, blazing like Hellfire in his yellow eyes.

They came to an unannounced halt. The trio of followers froze on instinct. As one, they wondered why they'd stopped, until their leader spoke.

He was staring blankly ahead, voice a husky monotone. "Look," he breathed. "Look at what she's done."

None of them could see what he meant until he moved aside.

Half submerged in the River Danub was the rotting carcass of a Displacer Beast. The corpse sat, heavy and immovable in its watery grave and displaying all the characteristics of rotting meat. Even dead, its great size was evident. Long tentacles trailed in the water, buffeted every now and again by the river's flow. Evil spikes jutted just above the surface, each filled with enough venom to kill a man in a few hours. Its belly was swollen as it lay on its back, but in the moonlight a crusted death-wound was easily visible bellow the breastbone.

All four on the shore recognised what had made that wound. It was part of their profession that they should know it for what it was – the mark of a dagger blade.

"She was here. This is her doing."

"Are you sure?" Salfos asked, brushing a few strands of greasy hair from his eyes. "This could be the work of some other warrior."

A feral glare snapped into him. Their leader uttered a growl that shook their bones down to the marrow. "You dare to question me? I know The Rogue's handiwork when I see it. She killed this beast, just as my master said she did." He turned back to look at the huge body, raking his gaze over the state of decomposition. "And if this is here, and she yet lives, then she can't be very far away." A cruel smile tugged at his lips, revealing razor-like fangs beneath. He ran his tongue lovingly over them, feeling the sharpness of each one in turn.

Without warning, he suddenly leapt forward and plunged into the river. The three young assassins started, and watched in amazement as the one who had once been known as Emilios the Savage made his way to the Displacer's Beast waterlogged carcass and casually kicked it over.

His strength was stupefying. He moved the heavy bulk like it was no more than a feather. It rolled easily aside, rotten stink billowing. Bits of flesh were missing where scavengers had pried it off, and though none of them knew it, there was the corpse of a fox caught against some rocks downstream. It had found the reason why Displacer Beast meat did not make for anything but a poisoned meal.

He knelt down to stare into the face that pushed fully above the surface, bloated purple and frozen forever in its dying moments. Gehín had a word for that look. Rejkep – meaning 'masquerade of the fallen', though Common Tongue usually translated it as 'death mask'.

For a long moment nothing moved. Salfos, Hariq and Pablo observed as Emilios stared unblinkingly into the dead animal's eyes, which were filmy and white. Not many people knew how eyeballs sank deep into the skull after death, cushioning against liquefying brain matter. Nor did many know how long it took them to do so, or how to establish a time of death based on these observations.

The allegedly undefeatable Displacer Beast.

Defeated.

By The Rogue.

Their prey.

They shivered collectively. They were tracking the girl who could do _this_?

Not for the first time, they cursed the mentors who'd put them forward for this crazy mission in the first place.

Sabertooth – that was what he liked to be called now, wasn't it? – straightened up. He stared intently at the dead creature, as if weighing it up.

He spat on it, and then turned on his heel and stalked away through the shallows, kicking up spray as he went.

"You weren't worthy as an opponent of The Rogue. You were undeserving, and now you've paid the price for challenging her. I won't make that mistake, because when I challenge her, I'll _kill_ her!" He smiled again. "And her two companions too, as per milord's requests." Strangely, he paused to bow to the empty air.

When he reached the bank he didn't even check to make sure the three youths followed him into the undergrowth. They trailed along in his wake regardless, as they were wont to do.

Over the days they'd spent in and around Zanninsa, and then travelling to the Danub, Emilios/Sabertooth had grown steadily odder. His behaviour had become more erratic, and his mood-swings more dangerous. Salfos still bore the black eye he'd been given on a whim, when he'd got too close to a window back in the city. Both Pablo and Hariq rubbed unconsciously at the bluish bruises peppering their bodies from minor faults he saw fit to punish.

And that wasn't all. Recently, he'd also started to talk to himself, too.

It had started as muted whisperings when he'd thought nobody could hear, but had now progressed to openly conversing with empty air and scenery. Their journey's progress had been slow of late because of these little respites he liked to take, where he'd sit aside from his charges with his back to them, and just talk. There was never anybody there, but he always became quickly engrossed with the pastime, referring to his invisible cohort as 'master', and 'milord'. All three of the young assassins privately believed him to be mad, but none of them were stupid enough to breach the subject in conversation.

Hariq drew closer to Salfos, scratching idly at a small claw-shaped cut above his left eye. He leaned slightly to shield his comment and direct it only at the taller boy. "Kinda makes you glad we ain't his apprentices, don't it?"

Salfos looked around before answering. "If he's like this with us, just pity that poor sap he used to mentor. That guy musta been a mess after every training session."

A long moment passed. Somewhere, an own hooted.

Salfos fingered his left eye. "Wasn't he the one who went to Österrik and never came back? Strange that The Guild Council never penalised _him _like they've done to The Rogue."

"Yeah, but remember where in Österrik he _went_," Pablo pointed out, joining their conversation uninvited. Hariq shot him a withering glance, but it was ignored. "They couldn't exactly send a hunting party _there_."

Hariq nodded. "Guess so. What was his name again? That old pupil, I mean."

Pablo screwed up his face. "Um... Petros something?"

"Pietro the Loyal," Salfos corrected.

A loud roar rent the air.

Emilios/Sabretooth whirled and launched himself at the tall boy, knocking him backwards and pinning him to the ground with his considerably greater mass. All the air was squeezed from Salfos's lungs, as the hairy man leaned forward, snarling menacingly.

"Don't you _ever_ let me catch you mentioning that name again. You hear me?" Flecks of saliva rained from his lips. "Pietro the Loyal don't exist no more. He ain't no concern of The Guild's, and he ain't nuthin' to do with you. If you so much as _think_ about him again, then I will personally gut you and sell your innards as a girdle. Do you understand me?" His voice had dropped to a deceptively soft lull, and his foul breath was warm and sticky against Salfos's cheek.

The boy spluttered for breath and did the only thing he could – he nodded.

Apparently this was enough. Emilios/Sabertooth removed himself to stalk off. He vanished into the underbrush on cat-silent feet.

Hariq and Pablo yanked Salfos up. This was not because they cared for his wellbeing. The three were hardly close friends. It was more so that they wouldn't be left behind and suffer a worse fate when Emilios/Sabretooth came back for them.

Not that he actually would. Sometimes, he barely even acknowledged their presence, and the rest of the time they felt like more of an inconvenience than a help to either him or the mission. He might even be glad they weren't behind him.

Salfos breathed heavily. None of his ribs had cracked, but his chest felt tight and sore where Emilios/Sabertooth's fingers had curled under his breastplate and pressed hard. Had he checked beneath his armour he would have seen tears in his tunic that no human fingernails could make.

He was forced to lean on Hariq for support as they walked. Pablo looked up ahead to where the near-feral man's gargantuan form was swiftly disappearing through the strangely sized bracken. Gods, but the scrub around these parts was giant. Maybe there was more to stories of Schwartzwald Fee – Black Forest Fairies – than they thought.

It was Hariq who voiced their thoughts. "Why do I get the feeling he's got something to do with that... guy's disappearance?"

"Shhh!" Pablo hissed. "He'll hear you."

Silence for a moment. Then Hariq spoke again. "Strange, though, isn't it? Something happened on that jaunt to Österrik. Two went, but only one came back. Him."

"And... see... what he l-looks like... now," Salfos wheezed. "I reckon... I reckon Pietro musta been... some kinda... trade... for..." He coughed.

"For those new freakish good-looks," Hariq finished. "Don't look at me that way, Pablo. It makes sense when you think about it. The Guild didn't want anything to do with Pietro's disappearance. It was like they didn't want to be reminded of what happened to him, and they didn't say anything at all when Emilios suddenly turned up again looking like... like /that/." He eyed the way ahead. "Some kind of weird cross between a man, a bear and a monster."

Pablo said nothing for a long moment. "I'll tell you one thing," he confided at last, voice low and tone soft. "Wherever that old pupil is at, if Emilios had anything to do with it, I'd bet my sword he's in one whole heap of trouble."

"If he's even still alive." Hariq shrugged. "What? You were both thinking it."

"Which we won't be for much longer if we don't hurry up." Pablo shot back, quickening his step. His shoulders were tense, his gait harried. "Come on, or The Rogue and her pals won't be the only ones swinging from the gibbet."

As one, they sped off into the night.

* * *

To Be Continued...

* * *


	21. Allies and Enemies

* * *

* * *

Chapter ­Eighteen: _Allies and Enemies_

__

* * *

* * *

'_In war trivial causes produce momentous events' _-- Gaius Julius Caesar: _The Gallic War_.

* * *

* * *

Rogue rested her elbows on the balcony wall, propping her face up with her hands. Every now and then a zephyr would tug and bedraggle her hair further into resembling a rat's nest, but she made no move to fix it or return inside.

Three days had elapsed since her soul-searching conversation with Ororo, and it was only today that Teah had deemed her well enough to 'take some air'. Thus Rogue wasn't too keen on relinquishing such an outing so soon, even if it was just out on the Infirmary balcony. The smell of outdoors was helping to clear her head. She inhaled the evening scent with gusto.

Visitors had been few and far between, owing to chores and other preparations for the trio's journey to Belvedere. Ororo, Jean and many others had duties to perform around the temple, and Kurt and Kitty spent practically every waking moment practising their equestrian skills out in the paddock. Kurt was getting quite adept, from what she'd heard, though when he came to see her it was usually for the double reason of relieving his new bruises and saddle-sores with one of Teah's salves. Kitty often accompanied him, and Rogue took great pleasure in watching them together. Their little nuances intrigued and entertained her in her medicinal prison. She watched how close they'd become, contrasting the behaviour to when they'd first met at the bombsite of Kitty's house. More often than not she'd risk a sly smile and shake her head at their adolescent romanticism, each wary and waiting for the other to make the first move.

She was more convinced than ever that one of them – probably Kitty – held the soul part of Love. The naked adoration shining in her eyes was so strong that Kurt must have had a hide like an elephant not to acknowledge it.

Rogue sighed. They didn't talk much about Rei-Shima. When the topic did come up, conversations instantly became depressing and dour. Days had passed, during which Initiate McCoy had kindly sent up a copy of the Calorsiel prophecy for her to read. Yet after hours of quiet study, Rogue still had no clue how to call upon their soul parts to resurrect the gods' champion. They shuddered collectively under the great weight of the hopes pinned so faithfully upon them by so many people.

Somehow the news had leaked out, as news always does, and their true roles in the forthcoming conflict were common knowledge around the temple now. Ororo, Teah and Jean had fended off many curious voyeurs from the Infirmary once it was discovered who Rogue really was, but some had slipped through the net. It made Rogue's eyes narrow to have them approach, asking if the rumours were true, and she and her friends really _were_ going to defeat the Silver Sword and save them all.

It surprised her a little that she could experience feelings towards them – guilt, mostly. Guilt that their hopes were misplaced. Despite her best efforts, Rogue's ice-queen exterior had been displaced. More than once she'd lied to those who questioned her – and it always seemed to be children who got in – and assured them that the Silver Sword stood no chance against her and her friends.

In truth, she didn't know if they were powerful enough to beat him. Kurt, of course, had waved all doubts away with a kind word and a smile, closely followed by Kitty and her dancing blue eyes. It seemed only Rogue wondered about the viability of their quest. The other two took it for gospel that they would win out in the end. The prophecy had said so, after all. Rogue, curse her practical nature, considered the reality of things and found her musings depressive.

An incongruous breeze to her left made Rogue raise her head. She found herself face to face with Jean. The redhead was sitting right next to her on the balcony edge like she didn't have a care in the world, swinging her long legs back and forth to kick against the stonework. She'd obviously levitated herself up from the ground far below, since there was no way she could've evaded Rogue's sharp senses crossing the room behind them.

"Hey," Jean greeted.

Rogue grunted.

Jean, however, was persistent. "How's it hanging?"

Rogue only shrugged. "Not bad, I suppose. Teah deemed me fit to breath fresh air, so that can only be a plus. How 'bout you?"

"Oh, average. Had to clean up a fight between two Underlings this morning. Not pretty, I can tell you. The tension seems to be really getting to some of them."

"I know." Rogue remembered the taunt, drawn faces of some of her guests. If anything spread faster than news, it was the bad feeling and tension that went with it.

Ororo's acolyte shot Rogue a curious glance. "I hear you'll be setting out soon. For Belvedere, I mean."

"Yeah, day after tomorrow, hopefully. That gives us time to get everything sorted. I still need a horse to ride, and it's doubtful either Kurt or Kitty have got around to packing anything yet. Not that we'll need much. Just a few essentials – food and suchlike. We have to travel light."

Jean nodded. "Although with Kurt's appetite that may be a problem. He'll probably want to take the entire of the kitchens along with him."

"Possibly." Rogue allowed herself a tiny smile. "Although with the Elf's uncanny knack of finding food _anywhere_, I don't think that'll be too big a problem."

Jean chuckled, tapping her feet against the surface of the wall in a ragged rhythm. "I see you're wearing the new clothes we had made for you. They're a nice fit."

Rogue looked down at herself. Quite honestly she'd forgotten the new jerkin and breeches. The temple seamstresses had made them especially for her. They must have been very comfortable indeed for her to do that, since most new clothing needed to be 'broken in' before that soft. Practical fabric was very rarely anything but coarse and scratchy, and often stiff enough to use as a weapon itself.

"Uh-huh. Better than that frilly white thing any day." She shuddered at the memory of the nightdress. "Gods, I was just about ready to shred that thing, burn it, and feed its ashes to the mountain-wolves." She pondered for a second, and then added, "Then destroy the wolves."

Jean laughed openly. "You know, you're very funny when you make the effort." Then she remembered her manners and politely covered her laughter with one hand.

Rogue quirked an eyebrow. "How do you know I'm not lulling you into a false sense of security so's I can slit your pretty little throat more easily?"

"Because your blades are over there." Jean jerked a thumb over her shoulder back into the Infirmary. "And I could stop you easily if you tried to make a dash for them." She tapped the side of her head.

"Shows what _you_ know." Rogue quickly and casually removed Logan's hunting knife from her boot. The boots were virtually the only item left over from her Guild costume, and she'd staunchly refused to give them up, though she was constantly cajoled and bullied to surrender them.

The metal wolverine's head snarled silently in the fading twilight, fangs glittering as Rogue tossed it from hand to hand.

Jean gulped, eying the wicked blade. "You're not, are you?"

"No, but I had you worried for a moment there." Rogue threw the weapon up so that it spun in the air, catching it adroitly in one hand and snaking it round into a perfect jab. "And that's a good thing. Worry makes your senses sharper because you're _looking _for danger. So you're ten times likelier to spot it if it _does_ appear."

Jean shook her hair from her face, tilting her head back to expose her skin to the chill of the approaching night. "Is that leftover from one of your lessons to Kurt and Kitty?"

Of late, Rogue had insisted on teaching the Elf and Shrimp some basic aspects of swordplay and how to fight and defend themselves with a blade. Even when she was confined to bed, she'd rapped out orders, watching and pointing out faults as they parried and mock-clashed amongst the paraphernalia of the Infirmary. Teah hadn't been amused. Of the two, Kitty had taken to the training much quicker than Kurt, which was strange given her softer background. However, Rogue didn't think much of it, and simply thanked her good luck that both of them were so eager to learn. That eagerness ensured they made few mistakes, and always rectified those they did make swifter than any average pupil.

"Nah." Rogue toyed with the last memory of her mentor, running pale fingers along the curved line of the wolverine's gaping jaws. It was beautifully made, yet lightweight and perfect for combat conditions – truly a coup of craftsmanship. "That one's a lesson _mah_ mentor taught me when I was a pipsqueak, barely big enough to lift a blade, let alone wield it."

Jean looked pensively into the sky, and suddenly changed the subject. Rogue looked up, wondering at the older girl's jitteriness as she wrung her hands and absently chewed her lip.

"We haven't really talked much, have we? Since the whole swapping bodies thing."

"What makes you think I'd want to? Or that we'd have anything to talk about?"

"I don't know. It was just an observation." Jean bit her bottom lip again, slightly flustered by the blunt response.

Rogue sighed and let her arm drop, leaving her head free to swivel an fix on her. "Why're you here, Jean? What's the real reason you came to see me? I know it's not just for idle chitchat, so don't give me any of that guff 'cause I can see straight through it. What's on your mind?"

Jean started, caught out. For a moment it seemed as though she was going to deny it. Then she also sighed, and stared at the ground far below. "I had another vision," she said flatly. "About the prophecy."

"What?" If Rogue had possessed the Elf's pointy ears, she would've twitched them as her attention was immediately grabbed. "When?"

"Just now, when I was taking some old scrolls to Initiate McCoy. I was walking along the corridor to the Libraries when it hit me, and I had to stop and lean against a wall until it was over."

Rogue turned to properly face her. "Have you told Ororo yet?"

"No. She's at prayer in the chapel, and nobody's to be disturbed there. Temple law."

"Then why come to me? Why not go to one of the other Initiates?"

"Because it involved you," Jean said with more than a hint of worry in her voice. "And I couldn't find either Kitty or Kurt. At least I knew where you were, since Teah has you on such a short leash."

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Don't I know it?" Then she leaned forward, expression grave. "So what did the vision say?"

Jean swallowed and cleared her throat. "It didn't _say _anything, per se. It was visual, as in made up of pictures – most of which I didn't understand."

Rogue tutted, her famous temper smouldering slightly at the correction. "All right then, what did you _see_?"

"I... I saw trees. Dark trees, like I was seeing them at night or something. And moving in and out of them were strange creatures, like wil'o'th'wisps, only somehow I knew they were solid. They were like pieces of silver, moving incredibly fast amongst the trunks but never letting me get close enough to see them properly. Then a great monster came out of the shadows, and all the odd creatures disappeared. It pushed its way through the trees, cutting a path with its own body. Everything it touched burst into flames, and faster than should have been possible the entire forest was alight. I could feel the heat on my face, and almost smell my hair burning as the flames got nearer to me, but I couldn't move away. I could only watch. Then suddenly, everything vanished, and I heard laughing. It was... I don't know quite how to describe it, except to say that it sent shivers down my spine. I doubt I'll ever forget it for the rest of my life."

Rogue nodded sagely. "Go on."

Jean took a breath and continued. "For the first time in the whole vision I could feel my physical body. I knew it was there, and yet... somehow... this is going to sound strange, but it wasn't mine. It was like I was borrowing it, seeing the world through someone else's eyes – from their perspective. But they were still in the body, too. They were there with me. Urgh, I'm not being very clear am I?"

"No, I understand what you mean. Go on. This might be important." Rogue made a pushing motion, illustrating that she should keep going.

"Well, I could feel something in my hands. But when I looked down, I realised that in actual fact they _weren't_ my hands at all. They were wide and chunky, like a man's, and fitted over them were a pair of horrible metal gloves with spikes jutting from the wrists and knuckles. They were holding a long broadsword made completely from silver. I knew it was made from silver, even though the colour was covered blood. In the reflection of it I could see three figures. I couldn't make them out properly, but there were definitely three of them, and they were walking towards me... like, from inside the blade. Then they vanished just like the image of the forest, and all I could see was that sword dribbling blood onto the floor. Then I woke up."

Rogue stood up, stretching her back and slotting her vertebrae back into place. "Well I don't get it, but I never made any bones about the fact that I generally don't get prophecies and visions and the like. Mah mind's too practical to interpret them properly. But I can see what you mean. It sounds mighty similar to Calorsiel's prophecy." She let her arms drop to her sides and swung them back and forth. "When's Ororo supposed to come out of the chapel?"

Jean shrugged. "I don't know. It depends how deep into prayer she is. Sometimes she can be in there for hours, and sometimes she can be in and out in a few seconds."

Rogue pursed her lips. "And I haven't the foggiest where to find Teah. She got called away to another section of the temple because some Kaju fell down the stairs and broke her leg."

"I've always said those spiral staircases are a health hazard."

"That's not the point. The point is that we need to tell someone about this. Someone who'll know what it means, or at least have a fair idea."

Jean though for a moment, then asked, "What about Initiate McCoy?"

"Um... the Master of Libraries, right?" Rogue tried to remember the name of the huge blue behemoth who'd visited and brought scrolls for her to read. Sometimes he'd found time to discuss one or two things with her, too. He'd seemed quite interested in Guild culture, though her intrinsic sense of secrecy hadn't let her leak as many aspects of it to him as he would've liked.

"Uh-huh." Jean's head bobbed up and down, making her hair sway. "He's real smart. Perhaps he'll know what my vision was all about."

"I suppose..." Rogue scratched her chin thoughtfully. "If there really is nobody else we can ask. I'm only wary because I don't really trust scholars' judgement. It only takes one mistake in a scroll for an entire way of thinking to alter or change completely. Societies have gone through massive changes and wars have been fought over beliefs. People have died for something that was something different a hundred years ago, and something else a hundred years before that. Unpredictable beliefs don't really appeal to me much. If y'all die fighting, then it should be fighting for something y'all can prove, that's mah motto. Principles and a code of honour are one thing, but beliefs are another."

Jean stared at her after this little speech, struck by the cold sense of her words. Then she cleared her throat. "You want to know what I think?"

"Why not?" Rogue leaned back on the balcony wall, peering over the edge. "Shoot."

Jean shifted her body a bit. The blood supply to her legs was being cut off, and she was getting pins and needles in her thighs. "I think it means that trouble's coming this way. Don't ask me how, but I have the strangest feeling in my gut that you ought to leave sooner than planned. I think you should leave as soon as possible – perhaps even tonight."

"Tonight?" Rogue repeated. "We ain't ready. I don't even know where the Elf and Shrimp _are_!"

"I could find them for you." Jean placed an index finger on her temple and closed her eyes. "And I could get a message to the kitchens to cobble you together some packs of food in a hurry. There's so much going spare down there they'd fill up some knapsacks in no time. Rogue, I meant what I said." She gripped the wall with both hands, knuckles blanching. "I've got a horrible feeling something's going to happen soon that'll change all of our plans, and not necessarily for the better."

Rogue twiddled her thumbs indolently, perusing her nails, which were the cleanest they'd ever been since coming under Teah's care. "Not that I don't believe you, but you don't seem to understand the situation properly, Red. It ain't just about food and setting out as soon as possible. The Elf and the Shrimp need more time to prepare themselves _mentally_ for what's to come. I'm used to it 'cause of mah Guild training, but they're not. What we're about to do is singularly the stupidest thing anyone has ever done. But even with that in mind, we're still doing it. But that don't mean we can just plunge straight in without a second thought. They need more time. We leave the day after tomorrow as planned. It's the only way they'll be ready to do this."

Jean ticked her eyes downward. "It was just a thought. A gut feeling."

Rogue let a whistle of air escape her lungs. "Well, I've learned to trust mah gut and the feelings it gives me. Tell ya what; when I see those two for their lesson later I'll broach the idea to them and tell them about your vision. But you gotta understand that even if they _do_ say yes, then we probably wouldn't actually move out until tomorrow at the earliest. Missing out on a good night's sleep don't do nobody no favours."

"I guess," Jean conceded. "I just wish you could feel what I'm feeling. Then perhaps you'd understand." She sighed. "Gods, sometimes it's hard being a Changeling."

Rogue looked up at her, and opened her mouth to say something. What, exactly, will forever remain a mystery, for at that moment the heavy wooden door to the Infirmary burst open and crashed against the opposite wall with such force that it cracked the stonework.

Both girls whirled, Jean nearly toppling from her perch in surprise. A large brown... _something_ flew through the doorway with a lethal grace, landing with a growl in the centre of the room. As it raised its head, Rogue saw with shock, and then anger, that it was in fact a rather svelte - yet no less powerful looking - wolf, legs splayed and tongue lolling. The anger was at herself for leaving her weapons where she couldn't get to them easily. Her muscles tensed as she automatically slipped into a hand-to-hand-combat posture.

The wolf cast about, still growling. There was something far to intelligent about the way it looked around the room.

Rogue was considering making a dash for her sword when it fixed on the entryway to the balcony. The wolf emitted a high-pitched whine and took a step forward. Rogue also stepped towards it and brandished a fist threateningly, hoping to intimidate it long enough to get to her blade. No way it could stand up to cold, hard metal. She'd have it dead and gutted before it could try anything. Then they could turn to the matter of where it came from and how it got up here.

Jean's head snapped towards her at this thought. Apparently Rogue hadn't been concentrating on shielding, and she'd picked it up loud and clear. An expression of abject horror crossed Jean's face. Rogue missed it completely, so focused was she on the wolf – which in turn was staring somewhat confusedly at her. She _did_ notice, however, when an urgent, voiceless voice echoed inside her head.

_Rogue, don't! You're confusing her_.

_Her? _Rogue thought briefly. Then her jaw dropped open in surprise.

Jean hopped off the balcony and went straight to the wolf. She showed no signs of fear – in fact, quite the opposite. One slender hand extended in greeting, and she spoke to it like some long lost friend.

"Rahne? Is that you? What is it? What's wrong?"

_Rahne? _Rogue blinked. _Ain't she that little Highland kid? That sure don't look like no kid to me._

The wolf gazed up at Jean and nodded. Rogue goggled. It actually, consciously _nodded_, almost as if it understood her. Her puzzlement gave way to curiosity as it then did something even more peculiar – something no ordinary wolf could do, nor would never be able to. Something that erstwhile had only been confined to legends and sagas told round a fire in deep midwinter.

The wolf drew its feet together and closed its eyes. At first there was no discernable change, but after a moment an odd rippling began to spread across its pelt. The fur shifted, coarse hairs sinking away as pale skin appeared. Its skull began to round and shrink, imperceptibly at first, but gradually speeding up as the transformation progressed. Its limbs lengthened and thickened, a waist began to pinch, and opposable digits hove into view past sharp claws. The half human, half lupine creature lurched to flattening feet, bones audibly cracking as joints reversed and muscles stretched and reformed. A faint slurping filled the air, and Rogue realised that this was the sound of organs remoulding themselves and rearranging to better fit their new body.

_Lycanthrope_, she realised. Some distant part of her brain knew that what she was seeing was impossible – wolves most definitely did _not_ become humans – but then, she'd seen so many strange and wonderful things recently; why was this one any more difficult to accept? _I've probably suspended disbelief so far I can't even _**reach **_it any more._

Finally the figure straightened up. A mass of untamed red hair sprang around her head. She gazed at the two older girls, unperturbed by her own nakedness (of course, her abilities didn't stretch to morphing clothes). She opened her mouth, and Rogue caught a glimpse of rapidly receding fangs even as she spoke.

"Jean... I been... looking for ye... all over," she panted. Had her human tongue been far too small for such a task, it would most certainly have lolled from her mouth. "Had to... had to..."

Instantly, Jean swung into action. Assuming a mien not slightly reminiscent of Ororo's motherliness, she raised her hands and shushed the smaller Changeling, at the same time guiding her to a nearby bed with a gentle hand. She yanked off the sheet to use as a shroud.

Rahne, however, had other ideas. She batted Jean's well-meaning hands away, rounding on her with a desperate cry. "Och, no... have to tell ye, Jean - it cannae wait!"

"Have to tell me what?"

"The dogs got a funny smell... came to me - couldn't find Ororo, but I needed to... so I thought, here!" she gabbled, too breathless and agitated to make her meaning clear.

"Hush now. Get your breath back and then tell me," Jean chided, swathing Rahne's shoulders and pulling the sheet tight enough to preserve what was left of her dignity.

Rahne didn't seem too concerned with dignity, however. She stood sucking in lungfuls of air like a drowning man, until her speech was coherent enough to make sense of.

"Now then, start from the beginning. What's wrong?" Jean plopped down on the stripped bed, patting the space next to her in an effort to seem comforting and in control. Yet Rahne remained standing, pacing back and forth as she talked. Her tone was earnest, her eyes serious.

Rogue leaned against the balcony entranceway, watching with interest. Though her demeanour seemed casual, she was poised for action, and listened intently to what the little Highlander had to say.

"It weren't more than half an hour ago. I'd been on kitchen duty and finished my chores early. I was already on my way back to my room, when suddenly the kitchen dogs mobbed me. At first I thought they were just hungry – sometimes I sneak 'em bits of old meat and stuff from the leftovers – but almost right away I knew different. They were all restless, not at all like themselves. They were trying to tell me something. Kept trying to drag me outside with 'em, but for the life of me I couldn't work out why."

Jean nodded. Rogue found herself doing the same. During one of their conversations Kurt had informed her how the dogs of the temple – and there were many different packs, according to which section and building you were in – all seemed to gravitate towards Rahne whenever she appeared. It wasn't often she could be seen without at least two of them trailing around her ankles as she went about her daily work, and now it was evident why. Being a Lycanthrope, they must have felt some kind of primal bond with her, despite her customary human form, and consequently stuck to her like flies round a dung heap.

She smirked at the metaphor.

"They seemed to insistent," Rahne went on, bare feet slapping the floor. "I knew it was real important when their Alpha bit me." She extended her hand to reveal several neat puncture holes in her skin, each an even distance apart. They weren't deep enough to cause serious injury, but showed just how 'insistent' the dogs had been. "I followed 'em outside, but they just clustered around the base of the wall, sniffing the bottom and pawing at the ground. I couldn't make out what they wanted, so I took a look at it from their point of view."

"You transformed?" Jean inserted.

"Aye. Good thing I did, too. Never would've known the wiser in human shape."

"What in Earth-Realm are you _talking_ about?"

To illustrate, Rahne tapped the side of her nose. "The nose knows," she said portentously. "Soon as I morphed I knew something really _was _up. Foreign scents on the air, coming from outside the temple, and I tell you now, it didn't smell good. There were some stone steps nearby, so I went up to the battlements for a look outside."

"Which side?" Rogue asked suddenly, startling them with her sharpness.

Rahne blinked. "North, I think."

"Could you see forest?"

"Aye. North and East are surrounded by forest; the other two – where you came from when you arrived – are plains. Virtually desert," Jean supplied

Rogue nodded, but said nothing else, gesturing instead that Rahne should continue. After a few bemused seconds she did.

"At first I could nae see a thing, but after a while they made a mistake. I suppose because I was in my wolf form I must've just looked like a dog silhouetted against the sky to them. Nothing to worry about. That's when they let their guard slip. It was only for a fraction of a second, but I saw them nonetheless. I ran straight inside with the news, looking for Temple Mother. But I couldn't find her. I couldn't find her anywhere, and since I could go faster in my wolf form I found you instead, Jean. I had to tell someone about them, and I thought you might know where Temple Mother is."

"Ororo's at prayer in the chapel." Jean sounded suitably confused. "But who's 'them'?"

Rahne looked at her with rounded eyes, wide with a mixture of trepidation and knowledge she didn't want. "The Silver Army," she breathed in a sepulchre whisper. "Scores of them. They're outside the temple."

"Yept!" Rogue swore.

"Oh gods!" Jean's hands gripped the bed in tight, claw-like fists. "They've come for - "

"Me, Kurt and Kitty." Rogue was already crossing the room to where the old chest lay open. "The Silver Sword must have found out where we are and sent his goons after us, though gods only know how."

"Magic." Jean tried to keep her voice level. "It can only be magic. And you're wrong, Rogue. Ororo and I have suspected for some time that The Silver Sword sees the Temple of The Way as a threat to his rule. We Changelings are too powerful for his tastes. He never meant to create us; we were an accident. It was only a matter of time before he made a move against us. Your presence here has only acted as a catalyst to make him act sooner. His intentions were always the same."

Rahne gasped with sickening insight. "He wants to destroy us. All of us."

Jean placed a comforting arm around the smaller girl's shoulders, drawing her shivering form close for warmth – both physical and metaphorical.

Rahne stared up at her for a moment, face bereft as the information sank in. Rahne was such a friendly little soul it was virtually incomprehensible to her that someone – anyone – would hate another so much to wish their destruction. Her eyes took on a sad look, and burned with a profound sadness at her discovery that such evil and discontent could exist in the world, and that it could be directed at such a peaceful haven as the Temple of The Way.

However, Rahne was by no means a pushover. She didn't dissolve into tears and sob about the unfairness of it all. To match her hair, a fire burned in her belly that simply wouldn't allow her to accept defeat so easily. Her expression switched from sadness to righteous indignity that someone would dare to threaten her home so.

"So what're we gonna do?" she asked curtly. "We ain't gonna just sit around and wait for them to come and get us, are we?"

Jean opened her mouth to answer, but it wasn't her voice that spoke. A sturdier, worldlier tone rode the anxiety in the room like a wave, coming to rest in their ears with an air of unquestionable finality.

"No," said Rogue. "We ain't."

She was knelt before the open chest. Jean crossed the room towards her, Rahne pattering along behind.

"So what do you propose we do? Escape them whilst they think we're unaware of their presence?"

"No." Rogue lifted a large, swaddled object from the chest. "We fight them." Carefully, almost reverently, she carried the package to a table and set it down. It was easily longer than her arm, and made a metallic 'chink' as it touched the wood. She unwrapped the contents, peeling back layer upon layer of dark fabric – cleaned, but old. Soon the sheen of metal shone through its folds, reflecting the light and refracting it into rainbow patterns across the ceiling.

Rahne and Jean gaped when they saw the sword. Though neither of them was a warrior, they could admire the craftsmanship that had gone into making it. The tiny intricate swirls of metal on the handle blossomed, vine-like, to curl around the bright gem set into the hilt. The dagger was no less impressive, with its shorter blade seeming all the more deadly and sharp.

Yet it was Logan's knife that made the biggest impression. Rogue ceremoniously pulled it from her boot and laid it next to its fellows. It glinted, the wolverine's head seeming to come to life the moment it spotted the sword and dagger. Starshine played in its glowering eyelets, and bolts of pure lightning were its wickedly curved fangs. The three weapons fairly sang as they were reunited with their mistress at last, and, looking at them, it was easy to understand the Guild ideal that part of a person's soul is contained within the weapon they wield.

Even Rogue was taken aback. Her weapons were more polished and well cared for than she'd ever seen them. If after every assiduous cleaning she gave them they shone, now they positively _glowed_. A half-smile graced her lips as she mentally complimented Kurt and Kitty on their work.

Picking up the dark fabric, Rogue swirled it about her frame, clipping the edges together at the base of her throat with the same clasp she'd used since the day she received her title. Her old cloak had been retained and cleaned by Teah despite all her complaints about germs and 'useless sentimentality'.

It was the work of mere moments for Rogue to reattach the belt and scabbard around her waist, which had also been kept with the three blades. With a practised hand she replaced the knife in her boot and the dagger to its rightful place by her side, but she kept her sword in hand.

Turning back to the two Changelings, they both emitted strangled gasps at her metamorphosis. In the space of a few short minutes she'd transformed from the once-sick girl who sort-pf conversed with visitors and stared wistfully out over the balcony, to a lithe killing machine, face set and jaw grim as she prepared for battle. She'd gone from invalid to combatant in virtually no time at all.

"Let them just try to take this place," she growled, raising the sword to hold it vertically before her nose. A fraction of a slip and it would have sliced into her face, but somehow they both knew that she wouldn't slip. Such an idea was utterly, yet inexplicably, incomprehensible. "I'll kill them one by one if I have to."

There was no doubt that she meant it.

Suddenly, an anguished expression flared in Rogue's face. Her eyebrows arched in awareness, and a groan escaped her mouth.

"What? What is it?" Jean asked.

"The Silver Army will be looking specifically for us. They'll do as much damage as they can to the temple and Changelings, but their orders _have_ to include flushing us out and putting an end to the threat of the prophecy."

"Ye mean Kurt and Kitty?" Rahne asked.

Rogue nodded. "But y'all know how big this place is. It could take _hours_ to find and get to them, and by then The Silver Army might've already attacked, and it'll be too late."

"Rogue, what do ye mean? Why's that bad for Kurt and Kitty?"

Rogue punched the tabletop with her fist. "Because I have absolutely no idea where they are. And if the Silver Army finds either of them first, then everything's finished. _Everything_!"

* * *

* * *

Ororo's knees were sore and her legs were cramped from being stuck in the same position for so long. The stone floor was hard and cold, but she hardly noticed. After many hours of fruitless praying, her requests had finally been acknowledged, and she wasn't about to interrupt her reverie because of a few pins and needles.

In front of her was an altar. It was a simple affair, small and made of roughly hewn stone, unlike the sumptuous efforts found in specialized temples. Such altars, and indeed the chapels they were found in, were designed with a specific deity in mind, and so had been crafted to reflect what that deity stood for or represented. Yet since the Temple of The Way wasn't dedicated to any particular god or goddess, all its altars – and there were many, since so many people had to use them – were simplistic, devoid of anything that could be considered favouritism to any one god.

Sometimes, if one wished to make it completely clear to whom one was praying, an offering could be place on the smooth surface of the altar. Ororo had done this, so desperate was she that her prayers be heard, if not answered. The offering she'd placed was one that was rarely made, and never invoked lightly. A token really, rather than a real offering, but the meaning behind it was insurmountable, for nobody contacted this god unless they truly wished for him to listen.

On the alter-top was a tiny drop of blood, still fresh and wet, even though it had been dripped onto the stone hours ago. It was barely the size of a fingernail, and had taken the merest prick with a knife tip to produce. Yet it stood for everything Ororo held dear. It stood for life – the lives of those Changelings and temple members she was committed to protecting, and to a lesser extent her own. But mostly, it stood for three particular lives, which she wished fervently to keep safe and well in the hard times ahead. Three lives that were to prove crucial to all Earth-Realm - the Soul Bearers of Rei-Shima.

Lifeblood, the sign of Ajudan, King of the gods.

Ororo knelt, head bent and hands clasped before her. From her mouth came a muttered string of words, inaudible to any but the most sensitive of hearing.

She'd known he probably wouldn't answer her, not after what she'd done. Still... that had been over a millennia ago. Surely he could forget the past just this once. Especially since it concerned Earth-Realm, his very own creation, and its people – the people he'd spared before at the pantheon's insistence. Now she was asking him again. She wanted nothing for herself – her paradise had long since died, and she was reaping the consequences, just as he'd decreed – but prayed he would swallow his pride and help her protect something they both held so dear.

Then again, this was Ajudan. The King of the gods was renowned for his uncompromising temper, and even more for his ability to remember anything and everything that displeased him. After all, he'd created grudges in the first place. In some degree of warped logic, it made sense that he be so proficient at holding them.

And Ororo had certainly given him cause when she left. She'd gone against his direct orders and broken his heart by abandoning the life he created for her in favour of the life made for his creations.

Mortals.

From the very beginning, deities were allowed to take lovers, but they were unquestionably _not_ allowed to fall in love.

Ororo's hands tightened their grip on each other, nails cutting into her skin. Her words came faster, more zealously, as she willed all the harder for him to hear her.

_Please forget the past. Please, listen to me. Just this once, I'm begging you._

A breath of wind, no more than the ghost of a whisper, brushed her ear. It blew softly, gently, like a parent who blows into a baby's earlobe to make it giggle. Ororo's eyes snapped open, and for a moment she looked squarely at the altar, at the drop of blood she'd placed there, squeezed from her own flesh.

It was gone.

It had been accepted.

He'd heard her prayers, and, more than that, he'd heeded them.

She smiled the smile of one who has just had a great weight lifted from her shoulders.

The three chosen ones were not alone in their fight. Though it wasn't for her to say how or when, or how much they would consign to do, the gods would be with them.

He would be with them.

Ororo tilted her face upwards. "Thank you," she murmured, a solitary tear sliding down her cheek. It cut a path through the dust that had settled on her skin, and she fancied she could feel incorporeal fingers wiping it away again.

A voice like that of a quiet person talking far away whispered into her ear, finding her hearing on the back of an insignificant dust mote.

"My... daughter," it said, torn between sadness and joy. "My... daughter..."

* * *

* * *

The forest was dark. The forest was quiet. Yet what most people neglected to remember was that the forest was also alive. It pulsed with life that had inhabited it since the dawn of time, and would remain until the very last blade of grass vanished from the world.

Tonight, however, the life contained within the forest didn't extend just to plants and animals. Tonight it contained something more.

At first glance the movement could have been mistaken for just a flickering shadow. The wind blowing against a tree branch perhaps, making it move and cast eerie shadows. However, upon closer inspection it became clearer that these were not mere shadows. Upon even closer inspection it was apparent that, what could easily be mistaken for common nighttime noises were actually voices.

Silvites watched the temple.

Silvites waited for the order to strike.

In a small patch of undergrowth, a head popped above the foliage and surveyed its surroundings. It was not a very attractive head. The mop of greasy brown hair was unkempt, and its skull was flat and rather squat. There was an almost pugnacious quality to it, and the eyes were a curious shade of yellow that instantly reminded one of cheese gone bad.

After a quick scan of the area, the head disappeared again. Only a few shaking leaves said it had been there at all.

The owner of the head crawled along on his belly, shifting through the thick undergrowth with all the grace of a jungle cat that had broken its leg in several places. His movements were quiet and swift, though, and he soon reached the side of another male, taller and patently more graceful, who also crouched beneath the waist-high fauna.

The taller one watched as the squat youth scudded over, settling himself next to him with much fidgeting.

"All clear?"

"Yup," replied the twitchy one.

"Good."

Silence stretched between them. Evidently, a silence the smaller youth felt uncomfortable with. He scratched behind his ear with one grubby finger, bringing the results round to study before wiping them off on his jerkin. He sniffed, swivelling his head this way and that in an effort to relieve his boredom. Woods and plants and trees and stuff were all very nice, but they didn't _do_ much.

"Quiet night, huh?"

No answer. The taller youth continued to stare at the side of the wall surrounding the temple.

"I said, quiet night, huh?" the smaller one said, a little louder.

"Shhh!"

He frowned and pouted. "Well sor-ry!" he muttered rebelliously. "Just trying to liven things up a bit, y'know. Lighten the atmosphere. S'like a graveyard out here, yo."

"Well don't," the other boy snapped. "This ain't any old mission, Dung-For-Brains. This is important work we're doing here. Emphasis on _important. _You can't just go shooting your mouth off all the time. Gotta be silent, like me."

His companion snorted. "Silent? You're about as silent as my left buttock, yo."

"At least I don't stink like it."

He gave a wicked smirk. "Now _that's_ the kinda conversation I'm talking about."

"Well I'm not, so shut up and keep watch like you're supposed to."

Another smirk, this time accompanied by a pudgy finger thrust up his nose to the second digit. "Always could get you riled easy, eh Lance?"

"Don't call me that! I've told you before, it's not Lance anymore. It's Sir Lancelot." He sniffed primly, raising his nose into the air. As the moonlight filtered through the undergrowth, it was revealed that his looks were as different from his companion's as was possible to be. His long shaggy hair had been snared at the nape of his neck, his face long and angular - infinitely more pleasing to the eye.

The squat boy removed his finger from his nostril and absently chewed at one dirty fingernail, spitting it out into a patch of particularly nasty-looking nettles. "Too good for us now, are we?" he sneered. "Too good for the name your parents gave you? Face it _Lance_, you were nothing before His Nibs gave you that title and put a sword in your hand. Just another peasant. And underneath it all, you're still a nothing. Another stinking nobody in a monkey suit." He spat out another half-masticated nail with a seditious 'phut', as if challenging the other boy to dispute his words.

The youth known as Lance – or, as he preferred since his ascension to Captain on this mission, Sir Lancelot – snorted derisively. "Look who's talking, _Toad_." He used the old nickname given during their childhood. Having grown up in the same watered down village, only two huts apart from each other, Lance knew how to push his friend's buttons exactly the right way to get him riled. "You could cause drought all by yourself, because your unholy stench would dry up all the water."

The one now identified as Toad, or Todd Tolenski, formerly of the village of Inlé, now of the Silver Army, hunched back on his heels with an incensed 'humph'. Despite having been teased for most of his life about his smell, the insults and barbs still stung, especially when hurled by his friend. It wasn't _his_ fault his body odour outstripped practically any man alive. And it wasn't _his_ fault his peculiar aroma had been likened on occasion to the corpse of a dead cow, left rotting out in the sun for three weeks and then rolled in manure and fetid guano. If anyone was to be blamed, then by rights it should have been his mother and her dalliance with that troll.

The term 'friend' should be used in the loosest possible sense, since the two boys hadn't really been on speaking terms until thrust together by fate's fickle hand. Todd's lineage made him an outcast in Inlé, and it was only his aunt and guardian's elevated status that ensured he wasn't tossed out on his ear as an abomination. When he and Lance had discovered themselves to be Changelings – with the added jaunt of being the only Changelings in the entire of Inlé and the surrounding area – they'd found a common ground. Yet it wasn't until Inlé mysteriously burned to the ground one night that they became 'friends'. As the only two survivors they'd travelled together over miles of rough terrain, basically keeping each other alive until they happened upon a place called Belvedere, which neither of them had heard of until that moment. Political astuteness wasn't a trait much valued in Inlé. Having nowhere else to go, they'd enlisted in the army there, offering their manpower and Changeling abilities to their new lord and master, the Silver Sword, in exchange for shelter and food.

It was sheer, dumb luck that had brought them here tonight. The battalion originally assigned to this kind of mission were away in a far-distant land dealing with an uprising in several of the conquered cities there. Their absence left nobody else suitably trained enough to deal with the task.

Lance and Todd had been so excited at being put on 'special manoeuvres' that the true nature of what they were doing had seemed insignificant and paltry. Pleasing the Silver Sword was all that mattered to them now, just as pleasing their respective parents and guardians had been all that mattered in Inlé. It was doubtful whether they even realised they were going to be attacking other Changelings, and even more doubtful whether they would've cared had they known.

Todd traced a finger through the dirt at his feet. Allegiance to the Silver Sword didn't stop him being fidgety. He shuffled about aimlessly until Lance rounded on him with a furious growl.

"Look, will you just _keep still_!How am I supposed to keep watch here if you keep interrupting me?"

"Sorry," Todd mumbled, sounding not at all penitent. "M'just bored, is all."

"Aren't you supposed to be keeping watch too?"

Todd made an indistinguishable noise.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, why bother? There are plenty of us watching 'em. Something goes wrong, they call us, we go running, yo. No biggie."

"Maybe not to you," Lance retorted. "But it's a 'biggie' to me. I take my work very seriously."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Then how come you didn't spot _that_, yo?" Todd thrust a filthy finger, daubed in grime of who knows what origin, under his friend's nose as he pointed at the battlements of the temple. Lance whirled around.

"What? _What_?" he demanded, searching the skyline as fast as he could and cursing both his lack of attention and Todd in equal measure.

"I thought you were very committed to your work, yo," Todd smirked. "Why would some hot-shot captain need a little _Toad_ to tell him things, huh?"

Lance counted to ten under his breath. "Just. Tell. Me. What did you see?"

Todd folded his arms. "Say it."

"What?" Lance feigned ignorance.

"You know perfectly well what I mean, yo."

"No I don't - "

"Just say it."

Grinding his teeth, Lance bit out with very bad grace, "I'm sorry for commenting on your smell. I realise now that my words may have caused you great hurt and emotional damage, and I apologise from the bottom of my worthless little heart. There, that good enough?"

Todd wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. "Excuse me, but I always get all teary when you say stuff like that. Beautiful, man. Just beautiful. I didn't know you cared."

"Toad...." Lance bunched a fist threateningly, to which Todd held up his hands in surrender.

"All right, all right, I give." Sniffing loudly – too loudly for Lance's tastes – he proceeded to grab his friend's chin and point his face towards the top of the temple wall. Lance narrowed his eyes, studying the spot.

"I don't see anything."

Todd peered upwards. "Aw man, s'gone now. You should've been quicker, Lance." One glance at the taller boy's murderous expression made his press on with his gabble. "It was a dog. Big one, too. Bigger than me, even. It was staring straight at us, yo. Watching us, I think."

"A dog?" Lance sounded disgusted. "How the heck is some dumb old dog supposed to be a threat to us? We're the Silver Army, you idiot. We're taking down a whole _temple_ when we get the order. It's people you should be worried about, not dogs! Why I oughta - " He raised his fist and Todd shrank away.

"Careful, Lance. Lotta good it'd do us if we start killing each other. We're the only two Changelings in this battalion, remember? We're both of us real important to the mission – as in, not killable."

Lance grunted, but let his hand drop. Todd let out a sigh of relief, as he went back to watching the temple wall.

A few minutes passed. Eventually Todd deemed it safe enough to crawl back to his place.

"What exactly are you planning to do when you get in there?" Lance hissed out of the side of his mouth. "Lick them to death? Jump on them? As far as I can see, your 'powers' don't stretch to much in a fight, so you're not completely indispensable. I don't know why His Lordship even drafted you in the first place."

"Hey, I can't help it if my great talents caught his eye." Todd flexed his somewhat diminutive muscles.

"You've got all the talent of a rotten turnip. Now shut up and let me think."

Todd sank into a sulky quiet. "Ooh, big man," he muttered. His long, prehensile tongue absently flicked out to snare a passing insect, and the argument was forgotten while he cracked it open and crunched it with his teeth.

Lance looked sickened. "Ugh, do you _have _to do that?"

"Can't help it, man." Todd swallowed, licking the spilled juice appreciatively from around his mouth. "Mmm, tastes like chicken. You should try one sometime, yo."

If possible, Lance's face matched Todd's pallor at the idea. "I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon," he spat.

Todd shrugged. "Suit yourself. More for me." And he promptly caught a sizable beetle that had ignorantly scuttled over his hand.

Lance shook his head, not sure whether to be more disgusted that Todd's dietary requirements meant that insects were fair game to him, or that he actually seemed to be enjoying their flavour. Either way, he couldn't watch the smaller boy anymore. It was bad enough he could still hear him, munching away at midges, without having to see him at it. Instead he stared up at the imposing building, boredom and waiting giving rise to contemplations of his own Changeling powers.

Finally, he said aloud, "I could bring this place down, easy. Bit of a jolt, it crumbles, leaving them with no defences. Looks old enough."

Todd nearly choked. "Are you kidding'? Bring it down? And us along with it! You use your powers and you'll cause an avalanche!"

Lance sneered at the remarks – didn't he know you only got avalanches on _mountains_? – but stopped as a notion crossed his mind. "Avalanche," he repeated, rolling it around inside his mouth. "Avalanche. Hey, I like the sound of that. Maybe that's what I'll call myself from now on."

Todd rolled his eyes. "So, what? You're Sir Lancelot Avalanche now?"

"Hey, it's better than Lil' Lance Alvers. Or _Toad_."

"That's Sir Tolenskivius to you, bub." Todd folded his arms. "And don't you forget it!"

Lance snorted. "Seriously, though. I was wondering; why should we even bother attacking this place at all?" He gestured at the temple with one hand. "I mean, my powers could collapse the place in no seconds flat, and the troops wouldn't even have to break into a sweat. Anyone who survived the rubble would be easy enough to eliminate without any stinking walls to protect them, doncha think?"

Todd rubbed at his chin. "I suppose," he conceded, much as he hated having to do it. "It _would_ be simpler to do it that way, yo. But then again, His Nibs did say he wanted us to wait for his orders. Perhaps we'd better ask him first."

"Pish-posh." Lance waved the idea away. "Think about how pleased he'll be if we get the job done quicker." He smiled at the thought of the Silver Sword's praise when he found out that his 'best soldier' had taken down the Temple of The Way single-handedly. The notion made his chest swell with pride. He'd probably give him a reward, as well as a new, even better title.

Poor Lance. He wasn't to know that the Silver Sword was planning to kill both he and Todd the moment they returned to Belvedere. The tyrant had about as much love for Changelings – even his own – as fish do for a fisherman's net. He was willing to keep the two boys alive only as long as they were useful. The faster Lance 'took care' of the Temple of The Way, the faster he hastened his own death.

"I dunno." Todd was still unconvinced. He had a modicum more fear of the sorcerer than his friend. "Perhaps we should wait. No point in rushing things if they're just gonna blow up in our faces, yo."

Lance snorted derisively – a snort turned into a yelp as a new, rumbling voice suddenly broke into their hushed conversation.

"An excellent philosophy, young pups." Even though it was no more than a whisper, it seemed to boom around the undergrowth with surprising force. Todd all but leapt into Lance's arms in panic.

"Who... who's there?" he whispered.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" mocked the voice, this time from a different direction. Both boys spun round, but saw nothing.

Lance cleared his throat, yet his voice came out as nothing but a strangled whimper. "I... I demand that you show yourself, stranger. By... by order of the captain of the Silver Army."

"The _entire_ Silver Army? Or just this motley band of troops?"

"Well... yeah..." Lance looked embarrassed, but was stopped from saying more.

"I can see why His Lordship wasn't willing to leave everything to his armies if _you're _the best he had. I could've slit both your throats just now, and you wouldn't even have noticed with all the noise you were making." The eerie voice slid into their brains like a noxious gas, prying into crevices and making them cringe with a mixture of terror and shame.

Lance stuck his chin out. "You know the Silver Sword?"

"Know him." Laughter floated from nowhere. "I'm his most loyal subject. He made me what I am, and I'm his to command for all eternity."

Taking a deep breath, Lance kept his whisper steady. This stranger must be on a par with him, then. It wouldn't do to look cowed by an equal. This was probably the messenger with the orders they'd been waiting for.

"If you're truly a subject of His Grace, then show yourself at once. We have much to do this night, and little time to do it in." He hoped he sounded more commanding than he felt.

"As you wish, _peasant_."

Lance winced, but remained silent.

Todd licked his lips, which had gone dry with fear. Since his Changeling power had enhanced his senses like an animal's, he could somehow tell that the owner of the mysterious voice was not someone to be taken lightly. There was an authority to him, some intangible force that demanded attention and servitude like no other he'd ever heard – save, perhaps, for the Silver Sword himself. Todd shivered in anticipation, torn between curiosity and dread.

For a few moments nothing happened. The forest was unnaturally quiet, and even the breeze seemed to have stilled as it waited for the appearance of the rumbling voice's owner. Not a creature stirred. It seemed as though everything and everyone – including the soldiers waiting all around – had been spelled into quiescence by some greater power.

A single shadow detached itself from the gloom. Towering above the captain and his companion, it dwarfed them into submission without uttering a word, whilst simultaneously remaining unseen by anyone who might have been watching the trees from the temple.

"You wished to see me, and now you can."

Lance swallowed. "Come into the light," he ordered, but the shadow only laughed.

"Do you think me a fool, boy? I would be seen in an instant by the temple inhabitants."

"How do you know they're watching, yo?"

The shadow turned to him, and though its eyes were hidden, Todd could still feel its gaze burning into his flesh like pinpricks of molten darkness. In that instant he knew that there was a monster hiding in that shadow – some mind-numbing terror from the cold regions that had come to claim them. His legs trembled, and his heart beat wildly in his chest.

"An assassin knows these things."

Both boys gasped. An assassin? As in, from the Guild of Assassins? They'd known about the Silver Sword's allegiance with the Guild, but the idea that he'd actually employ their services was terrifying to say the least. There were far more legends about the Guild than there were facts.

A harsh chuckle sounded from the enshrouded being. "At least you have sense enough to fear me." Then its attitude became harsh and businesslike. "Now listen, you worthless whelps. Your task, and that of your men, is simple. You force your way into the temple any way you can and kill as many people as possible. In the Guild, you are what are known as 'Cripplers'. You will cripple their numbers as fast as you can whilst they are still disorientated."

"What'll you be doing?" queried Lance, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. It was a dangerous action, but fortunately not one the assassin was willing to take up.

"I have my own orders. I am to sneak in before the alarm is raised and put paid to certain targets His Lordship particularly wishes to be rid of. He doesn't trust the likes of you, so I am here instead to make sure they don't escape your bumbling efforts."

"How're we meant to know when to attack?" Todd asked in a small voice. "I mean, if you want the element of surprise, how much time do we give you until we go in, yo? Just so we don't ruin it for you," he added by way of explanation and apology.

The assassin extended one hand and pointed towards the temple. Even in the dark, it was easy to see the raw power and muscle in to that arm. It made both boys shiver - Todd even more than Lance, for he had seen what his friend could not with his puny, human vision. He had seen the coarse, inhuman fur lining the flesh; the savage claws tipping the fingers. He had seen but a portion of the monster they had been ordered to trust. It made him tremble down to the marrow in his bones, and imbued his bladder with a sudden urge to relive itself in his breeches.

"When the moon reaches that tower there and shines behind it, that is when you and your forces will strike. Then, and only then."

"You sure you can get in?" Lance asked. "I mean, I take it you're not gonna use force like the rest of us if you wanna keep the element of surprise and all. But how else would you gain entrance without force?"

"An assassin can gain entrance anywhere if he so chooses. Neither walls, doors, nor magical defences can keep the true hunter out. But I warn you now, weaklings. If by any way I lose my prey, then I swear to you now, by all the gods in the pantheon, I will hunt the both of you down and slit your gizzards while you sleep in your beds. Do you understand me?"

The petrified duo nodded meekly, frozen into place by the near palpable venom poured into that voice. They were in no doubt that it belonged to a true killer - the kind of man fated to have a black heart and tainted soul from the moment he was brought screaming into the world.

Neither of them said a word as, soundlessly, the assassin melted back into the shadows. Try as they might, they couldn't make out his silhouette, and were left tingling with the sense that they had just looked the Angel of Death himself in the eye and escaped unharmed.

After a substantial amount of time had passed, and they were both sure the lethal behemoth was gone, Todd haltingly turned his head to his friend and captain. Lance was as white as a sheet, brown eyes wide and fixed on the spot they'd last seen the assassin.

"D'ya think he meant it?" Todd asked.

Lance never broke eye contact with that riveting patch of undergrowth. It wasn't a case of wouldn't or couldn't, he just didn't, and the lack of emotion in his voice startled Todd into a whimper.

"He meant it. We can't screw up, Todd. We just can't. We do," there was a loaded pause, during which all the hairs on the back of Todd's neck sprang to attention, "and we're dead."

Todd looked at Lance and then back at the temple. Suddenly their mission seemed all the more daunting, thanks to this new death threat hanging over them. What had once been a cosy jaunt where they could show off their powers had now become a deadly game of cat and mouse with their own side. There were no rules to speak of, but gods take pity upon their souls if they should break them.

* * *

* * *

To Be Continued...

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****

**Review Responses**

_Quill of Mollimon -- _Ah, Pietro. But that'd be telling, no? Suffice to say, he'll made some kind of appearance in the future. And that's all I'm going to tell you.

_Me --_ Another _Spirit_ fan! Yay! Ironically, I ended up getting the soundtrack before I saw the movie (was on a Bryan Adams kick at the time), so I fell in love with the music before the movie. But yes, love the film, too. Blinks Hunka Southern Meat? But what about the Adorable Blue Fluffball? Argh! Choices, choices...

_UncannyAsianGirl -- _Yes! Let the Sam/Rahne fly free! Though I'm also partial to a little bit of Jubilee/Rahne, but that's neither here nor there. You're right, though. Sam would make an excellent boyfriend.

_Hootild -- Sprit: Stallion of the Cimarron._ I love that movie. I got an absolutely appalling write-up, but like I ever listen to Christopher Tookey, anyway?

_Cheesy Monkey -- _Yes, you found the Shrek reference. I think I was channelling Mike Myers that day. It was so long ago, I can't remember now. Brings out hypnotists' swinging watch You will like Sam. You will like all the New Mutants. When I snap my fingers, you are going to go write a hundred-chapter epic about how great and wondrous and lovely they are...

_Koriaena -- _Thanks. But I wouldn't reserve _too_ much sympathy for the Guild. They're predominantly chauvenistic killers with a side order of nutzoid bastard. So... yeah. Interesting, but not nice. Nu-uh.

_Aaronexus -- _Yup. Those pints you noted were/are intended as an _homage _to the Redwall series. I grew up reading that, so it was bound to have a big influence on my writing style. Though I have to say, I was disappointed by _Marlfox _when I read it. That's the poorest, in my opinion, while the best is still a struggle between _The Bellmaker _and _Mossflower_. Oh yeah, old school Brian Jaques rules. The parts with Kitty's accent were written when I had only the barest exposur to the show in Season One, when virtually every other word out of her mouth was 'like'. The scriptwriters toned it down after that, and I did too in later chapters, but the early stuff... yeah. Extreme Valley Girl (tm). Argh! No, don't come anywhere near this fic if you know how to speak good German. Though I'm part German, I'm always too embarrassed to ask my grandmother for help because then I'd have to explain what it was for and... no. This is Babelfish German, which is quite a different beast.


	22. The Battle Begins

A/N: I am terrible at timekeeping. This chapter was meant to be a birthday present for Harry Wriggle. But her birthday was in December. Um ... happy (very) belated birthday, Harry!

* * *

Chapter Nineteen: **The Battle Begins**

* * *

'_Grief is the agony of an instant; the indulgence of grief the blunder of a life_' - Benjamin Disraeli, 1st Earl of Beaconsfield, in _Vivian Grey._

* * *

Ray Crisp paced the restricted space of the watchtower like a caged animal.

He hated being cooped up. He hated it even more tonight. As everyone who knew him was aware, Ray had an uncanny knack of sensing any bad feeling that might be abroad and absorbing it into his own ill humour before anyone else even got wind of its existence. It wasn't a Changeling power, but a simple trait of his personality, and consequently it made him tetchy and unapproachable most – if not all – of the time. Certainly all the daylight hours, at least.

Thus it was that this night, having been placed on watch duty when usually he would've retired to bed, Ray was in a worse temper than usual. He stomped about the watchtower, sometimes peering out over the gate, sometimes leaning in a corner with his eyes closed, muttering.

Such was his mind-set, he spent more time with his eyes closed than doing any actual watching, as a lookout was supposed to. Ray had his own set of personal rules, and pointedly ignored all those who told him otherwise.

Tonight, he found himself contemplating the source of his bad feeling, and the general atmosphere permeating the rest of the temple recently. To wit: the three Soul Carriers.

Just the thought of them made Ray screw up him mouth, remembering how he'd tried to send them away when they first arrived looking for help. Despite what people may have thought of him, Ray wasn't unkind. Had he realised the extent of their plea, and their true identities, then he never would have done what he'd done, and Jubilee would never have been forced to clean up after him – although it didn't seem to him as though she minded. Last he looked, she'd been getting pretty cosy with that Germanic elf in a tree. They hadn't known he was there, of course, and he couldn't hear what they were saying, but still, they'd just seemed so… so _close_; like they were sharing some intimate secret he wasn't privy to.

He'd almost sent them away…

But the wounds of his slaughtered village had still been fresh in his mind. Were still fresh in his mind. They influenced everything he did; from washing pots to dealing with travellers.

They still pained him, though he never let anybody see how much he hurt inside. Instead, he just dressed his damaged emotions up as surliness and reclothed them in anger. He didn't want pity. He was stronger than that. he was a survivor. All he wanted now was revenge against the man who'd destroyed his home and family to get at him, just because he happened to be a Changeling. He wanted the man who taken everything and everyone he'd ever held dear.

He wanted the Silver Sword.

Unbidden, a recent conversation he'd had with one of the Soul Carriers sprang to mind. The Rogue herself, no less. Ray had gone to visit her out of curiosity more than anything else – apologies were out of the question for him – but found himself drawn into a conversation with her on all manner of things. Unlike most folk, the Rogue had seemed genuinely interested in what he'd had to say. She'd listened with interest as he said his piece, never once interrupting, or saying like most people, 'But that's unreasonable because…'

Ray had been surprised at this, given her famous temper. He'd been even more surprised at how she teased things out of him, getting him to talk copiously about his family, about how much he missed them, and how much he hated the Silver Sword – something he'd never really spoken to anyone about since he came to the temple a few months ago. Not even Ororo had made him talk, and she had a … a presence about her nobody else did.

The Rogue had been understanding about the whole business, giving her opinions and relating her own experiences with the Silver Sword and his actions throughout Earth-Realm. Yet it was something she'd said afterwards that really stuck in Ray's mind. Now it knelled inside of his brain like an importunate bell, forcing itself into his consciousness.

"You gotta be careful, Ray," she'd said. "Anger can be healthy way of relieving aggression, but it's also incredibly dangerous. You have to know when to stop it, and make sure that you can, because if you let it rule your life then it'll consume you. Trust me, Ray. It very nearly happened to me. It was only luck and chance got me away from my inner demons. Don't let it happen to you. Whatever you do, keep your anger in check, or y'all risk becoming what you hate the most – a monster."

"A monster," Ray breathed. Wisps of steam curled from his mouth and went frolicking away on the cool night air.

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense – a warped kind of logic nobody had ever been able to get through to him before. He couldn't change who he was, not by himself, but he didn't want to _be_ changed. Ray had no desire to turn out mad and blinded by his lust for revenge. He had a new life here at the Temple of The Way. Perhaps it was time he started making the most of this new chance, this fresh start the gods had seen fit to give him.

A faint smile creased the edges of his lips. How strange that the Rogue of the Guild of Assassins, a girl famous for her ill temper, should be the one to help soften him up. Him! Ray Crisp: hot head extraordinaire. Maybe when this was all over, and the Silver Sword was defeated – Ray was in no qualms about this; nothing and nobody could make him believe that Kurt, Kitty and the Rogue weren't going to 'kick the old fart into orbit' – maybe then the trio of heroes would return to the temple and he could get to know the Rogue better. Who knew? Perhaps there was even a future for them as a couple. The notion wasn't entirely disagreeable.

_After all, stranger things have happened. _

It was because of these daydreams that he failed to notice the scratching. Not that it was particularly noticeable, but had he been paying attention he might have been able to raise the alarm sooner. It was an odd sort of noise; like nails on a chalk board, or the scrabbling of a dog's paws as it tries to clamber over a large rock at the beach.

It wasn't until the noise became loud enough to be considered obvious that Ray finally noticed it. The rustle of clothing and a faint 'thump' on the floorboards of the watchtower made his eyes snap open with a curse at his own laxness. He whirled around to see what had made the sound.

All he saw was night sky, silent and dark. Glittering stars speckled in the easily visible distance. It was a clear night, crisp and cold despite the season. No sound was evident, save for the chirping of insects, and Ray walked to the edge of the tower to make sure he wasn't imagining things.

As he peered curiously over the edge, another noise reached his ears – a grunt, like an animal, coming from behind him. He spun on his heel, but it was too late. A figure loomed out of the dimness. There was a flash of claws, a spurt of blood, and Ray crumpled. He was dead before he even hit the floor.

For a second there was silence. Such was the suddenness and swiftness of the attack that the world seemed to have stopped as it caught up with events.

Then a shadowy figure oozed from the dark corner of the tower where it had lain in wait. It clicked its fingers, and at once there was a 'whoosh', as three identical grappling hooks attached to taunt ropes snaked their way up the wall. They latched onto the edge of the watchtower, clinked musically for several seconds, and pulled to and fro by the weights they bore, until a trio of heads appeared over the rim. Darkness-clad bodies followed, rolled onto the floor and gathered up the subversive tools with barely a sound.

"C'mon," said the first. "We got work to do."

"But how will we know where to find them?" asked the smallest. "This place is huge, and we have only until the moons reaches the tower."

"_I'll _find 'em." The leader sped off along the battlements adjoining the tower, course unnervingly sure. The trio trailed in his wake without another murmur. They knew better than to question his judgment.

Alone in the darkness, the pathetic bundle was swallowed up by shadows, as the candle in his untended lantern burned low and guttered out. Only the night was left to mourn his passing; a silent witness to the first casualty of the night.

* * *

"And … go!"

Kurt leapt from the ceiling, dropping like a stone and vanishing in a cloud of sulphurous smoke before he hit the floor. A few seconds later he re-emerged on the back of the chair.

Yet he couldn't rest. With a curious whizzing noise, a blast of glittering light flew towards him. He'd barely Bamfed away when it struck the chair, shattering it to pieces. He materialized behind Jubilee, who still had her arms outstretched, and pinned her to the floor before she could turn and aim another attack.

"I win!"

"Urgnuh – get offa me you dumb elf!"

"I win!" Kurt said again, grinning.

"And if this were a real battle you'd be dead right now."

He looked down at his chest. A familiar hand jutted right through his ribcage. Swivelling his head, he saw Kitty's face at his shoulder. Her arm was buried up to the elbow in his back.

"Aw, Kätzchen, no fair." He grumbled, as she pulled free and he duly released Jubilee. "I was finally winning."

"You need to be more cautious, Kurt." Jubilee brushed herself off. "If Kitty had been a real warrior with a sword you'd have bought it big time. You _know _you - "

"Shouldn't count the battle won until it's truly over. I know." Kurt sighed, reciting the lesson Rogue had ruthlessly drilled into him. "But you could've let me win just once. I've 'died' more times than I can count today."

Kitty laughed, and Jubilee couldn't help but smile. It was difficult to stay annoyed with Kurt when he was practising his 'puppy dog eyes' routine. She let out a breath and scratched the back of her head.

They'd been practising for a couple of hours now, as the three of them had grown accustomed to doing whenever they had a spare moment. Kurt and Kitty were confident that Rogue's combat lessons were beneficial, but had requested near the beginning that they be allowed to practise alone, to hone their skills properly for the coming battle at Belvedere. Nobody had objected, and Jubilee had 'volunteered' to help them, and so had taken on the predictable role of 'bad guy', using her Changeling powers in mock-battles to help the pair train. Certainly, it seemed to be doing _some_ good. Kurt's Bamfing was more accurate now, and he could get from one place to another without fear of injury from a shoddy re-entry.

She surveyed the shattered chair, sucking in air through her teeth. "_That_ isn't going to go down well. I promised Initiate McCoy we'd be careful in here."

Kurt came to stand by her side. "Ach, you can blame it on me, Fraulein. I guess I should've moved sooner."

"Yes, you should. Think fast!" She turned, throwing her arms out and letting the flickering lights of her Changeling power gather around her fingertips.

She found herself aiming at nothing but a vile-smelling cloud. Letting her powers dissipate for a moment, she waved it away from her face - and promptly found herself flat on the floorboards with a furry mound sitting on her back.

"Thought faster."

All three of them giggled, glad of a respite from the recent gloom. Kitty's shoulders shook as she covered her mouth politely, eventually giving up and throwing back her head to laugh at the expression on Jubilee's dusty face when Kurt finally let her up. Their chuckles hung in the air, creating a friendly glow that warmed the room and the hearts of those in it.

So it came as a double shock when the door suddenly banged open and a cloaked figure strode purposefully in. The laughter caught in their throats as they realised whom it was.

"Rogue?" Kurt said in surprise. "What are you doing here, aren't you meant to still be rest… Fraulein, why are you wearing your armour?"

"The temple's going to be attacked," Rogue said shortly. "And soon. A battalion from the Silver Army is already outside in the forest. Rahne spotted them."

"Oh, gods." Jubilee scrambled to her feet. "Does Ororo know?"

"No. She's at prayer." Rogue strode further into the room. As she came into the light they could see she was carrying two neat packages tied up with string. She tossed them to Kitty and Kurt.

Kurt caught his easily, but Kitty fumbled and hers fell to the floor, spewing its contents everywhere. She bent down and picked an item up.

"Breeches?" She looked up enquiringly. "What're these for?"

"To wear. I would've thought that was obvious."

Kurt glanced at his somewhat dirty pink robes and then up at Rogue, suspicious. "What're you planning?"

Rogue sighed. "Look, the Silver Sword's attacking the temple because we three are here. If y'ever needed convincing that we're the three Soul Carriers, then I think this qualifies. He wants us out of the picture 'cause we're dangerous to his plans, so he's trying to wipe out the whole place. Jean reckons he would've done it anyway because of all the gathered Changelings, but the fact remains that he's sent an entire troop of soldiers to flush us out and put paid to us as a threat. Jean found out where y'all are telepathically so that I could come get you and get to work."

"Get to work?" Kurt looked more than a little puzzled at the large influx of exposition. "Ich verstehe nicht. I don't understand."

Rogue faced him, a strange light in her eyes. "This place and the people here have been more than accommodating to us, and all we've done is bring that lot down on them. It ain't fair, so I think it's time to repay our debts. We're gonna help defend the temple. Jean's already sending out messages to all and sundry that any able-bodied person who can fight – Changeling or not – should get ready to do battle. I believe we qualify."

"What about those who aren't able-bodied?" Jubilee queried, helping Kurt unravel his new clothing, since he was finding it difficult with his thicker-than-average fingers.

"Everyone else is to gather in the Great Hall. There's a group being set up to man the doors just in case, but everyone else is to get to the battlements. We're gonna stave 'em off from there, not even letting 'em get a sniff at inside the walls."

"So what's with the clothes?" Kitty held up a green jerkin.

"I thought it'd be easier to fight in them instead of those damn _dresses_." Rogue pulled a face, not noticing when Jubilee glared at her. "The seamstresses had already made them, so it made sense to take advantage of the offer. Hurry up now and get dressed. This ain't no time to be worried about your dignity, Shrimp."

To Kurt's astonishment, Kitty added her voice in agreement. "She's right, Kurt. There are lives at stake here, and if we're gonna make any difference in this fight then we, like, gotta be where the action is."

Dumbly, he nodded and began stripping off.

Jubilee turned to face the wall, cheeks reddening at the brief glimpse she caught of his furry chest. It wasn't a new sight, since she's gotten a full view of him topless when he first arrived, but now that she knew him better it just seemed wrong to watch.

Another voice stopped them all in their tracks. All four looked to the doorway where a willowy figure stood.

"You will not be joining the battle this night," Ororo said calmly, stepping into the room. "This is our fight, not yours."

"Ororo, you're back from your prayers," Jubilee exclaimed needlessly.

Rogue was a little more cutting. "And why not?" she demanded. "It's the least we can do after all you've done for us."

Ororo shook her head. "You will help us much more by not fighting. We need you three alive. That is how you may do the most good. There's little you could do to turn the tide here anyway."

Kitty bit her lip. "But Ororo, we can't, like, just abandon you to them. We want to help."

"Then get to Belvedere and defeat the Silver Sword."

"Look, lady - " Rogue looked ready to challenge Ororo's ruling, but the older woman halted her with a strange look.

Had he not have known better then Kurt could've sworn her eyes seemed somewhat paler than usual, almost like a film had crept across them.

"Rogue, you of all people know that we are more than capable of defending this temple. Our home. We have a few aces up our sleeve the Silver Sword hasn't counted on." She smiled knowingly, expression incongruous to the situation.

Rogue titled her head, regarding her oddly.

In a movement that surprised and astonished them all, Ororo did something that none of them had ever imagined her doing. She winked.

Rogue started. A small sigh of resignation escaped her lips, conveying that she wasn't at all happy with the state of affairs. She nodded.

Ororo acknowledged this with a small incline of her head. "You will leave the temple tonight – Kurt, Kitty, Rogue. I have already taken the liberty of notifying the Head Cook. His team prepared rations for your journey before going to the Great Hall. You will change your clothes and then collect them from the kitchens. Jubilee, you must help them make their escape. No doubt, by the time you are ready to leave the Silver Army will have begun their assault. It is imperative that you three get away from here _now,_ while there is still time."

"But… but…" Kurt stuttered. It went against every moral fibre in him to simply _abandon_ the temple residents. From his days there, he knew that few of their number had what could be considered offensive powers. Many were elderly or very young. They couldn't fight or defend themselves. How could he just _leave_ them to – probably – die?

"Shut up, elf!" Rogue snarled.

Kurt stared at her, stunned.

"She's right. The best thing we can do is get to Belvedere and take care of that two-faced son of a jackal. Unless we do what we're supposed to, the Silver Sword'll do this to _all_ of Earth-Realm. He's poison. Best thing to do to poison is suck it out of your system before it can do any damage – get rid of it, quick like. So shut up and get changed. We're leaving."

Kurt and Kitty averted their eyes and removed their robes, which they had become so accustomed to recently as to regard them as their 'proper clothes'.

Both were soon decked out in similar outfits. Kitty noticed with some irony that for the first time in her life she was wearing male clothes. It chafed a bit more than she'd thought it would, but was comfortable enough. She could move around without fear of ruffling her skirts too high and exposing herself, or else tripping over the hem when she tried to walk too fast. It was liberating, but she had little time to savour the small victory so long in coming.

Ororo held out one fist and one open palm. On the palm sat a small scroll, bound tight with a faded cranberry ribbon. From the other hung three wooden amulets attached to leather thongs. Each was carved with a strange symbol daubed in black ink. They swung back and forth like pendulums as she gestured with her fist.

"These are gifts for you three. They're talismans, each with its own particular meaning and significance. They're always given to visitors when they leave, and I hope they'll bring you good fortune on your quest." She passed one to Rogue, who was closest. "This is the sign of Konokim, the god of Knowledge."

The symbol was like a child practising handwriting. Wobby and neat by turns, an unbroken line looped around itself like a serpent eating its own tail while performing advanced meditation techniques.

"And this," Ororo handed another to Kitty, who studied it intently, "is the sign of Clemencia, goddess of Healing. It's also reputed to keep the bearer in good health."

It was not something Kitty would have worn by choice. The black splodge in the middle looked a little like an oak leaf, but the specks around it looked like the spots Initiate Ashari made on her parchment when she shook her quill to make it work.

"And finally," Ororo placed the last talisman into Kurt's hand, "this is the sign of El-Caminar, god of Pathways and patron of safe journeys." She stepped back. "They're not much, but I give them in the fervent wish that they might lift your spirits and believe that the gods are watching over you."

Kurt studied his talisman closely. Then he looped it around his neck to dangle against his chest. His was by far the clearest image of the three – a country path with a tree towering over one side, winding away to a distant horizon.

Rogue gave Ororo a penetrating look, but the Temple Mother turned away and offered Jubilee the scroll.

"For you, child, I have something quite different. Since it is your job to help these three to safety away from our walls, I have concocted this to aid you in your task. Don't open it now. When the time is right – that's when you'll know what to do."

Jubilee reverently took the parchment. "Thank you, Temple Mother," she breathed. "I won't fail you, I promise." She hugged it to her chest, just managing not to squash it.

Ororo smiled, but looked profoundly sad as she surveyed the four youngsters. "Now, go. And whatever you do, don't look back. You may want to with all your hearts, but please, do _not_ look back once you are free of here. Be swift, and may the gods go with you."

Rogue bent her head. "Let's go." She started off without looking at Ororo, or even looking back to make sure the others were following.

Kurt was still trying to voice his revulsion at what they were doing, but the words refused to come out. He, Kitty and Jubilee trailed meekly after Rogue, but as soon as they were free of the room his voice came back and his complaints echoed down the corridor.

"But we can't just… Fraulein, don't walk off! How can you just abandon the temple like this? I know we're important, but it still doesn't feel right just _leaving _them. We should stay. They _need _us. How're they supposed to win the battle alone? Rogue? Rogue! Beantworten Sie mich das! Answer me that!"

He stumbled and nearly toppled over backwards when she rounded on him and pressed her face into his. Rogue's eyes glowed fiercely. She snarled at him with all the raw savagery of an untamed beast.

"The temple. Will be. Fine. Ororo'll protect it. There ain't no way those soldiers are getting in here with her around."

"How do you know?" Memories of how close she'd come to murdering him when they first met resurfaced in Kurt's brain. His Adam's Apple bobbed nervously. "She's just one person. How can she defend an entire temple on her own?"

"Because she's a -" Rogue bit down on her tongue, hard. The coppery tang of blood lit her mouth. She glanced back to where Ororo stood at the doorway, watching them with unreadable eyes. _Should I say it? s_he wondered. _Will I be punished for revealing a secret that's not mine to reveal?_

Ororo blinked, and then dipped her head a fraction of an inch.

Rogue looked back to Kurt. Golden eyes full of defiance glared back at her, but she ignored their vehemence.

She suffered one last pang of uncertainty. A killer she was, but she respected privacy, and recognised the magnitude of the secret she was about to shatter – the illusion she was wiping away with a word. Was she doing the right thing? Was it her place to say? This was Ororo's question of identity, and as a former assassin, Rogue still laid a great weight on identity. To her, what she was about to say wasn't some mere titbit for old gossips to chew along with their tobacco. It was enormous, bearing more significance than she could ever make these… these _innocents _understand.

"Well?" Kurt glowered, not really expecting an answer but refusing to let it go.

Rogue clenched her teeth. "Because… _she was a goddess_!" She spun on her heel and marched away.

Kurt gaped after her, mouth opening and shutting. Somehow, he thought he should've been more surprised, but it made a warped kind of logic, really. A subliminal kind of sense – yes, that was it.

The conversation he'd had with Jubilee in the Great Hall on his first day. Images of mage crystals, magical staffs and excess energy flew into his brain, cluttering around until they screamed at him, 'It's true, you idiot! You know what she's saying is true! Accept it and get on with things, or you won't be around much longer to get on with them!' The voice sounded disturbingly like Rogue's.

Reeling slightly from this outburst by his id, Kurt blinked and tottered after the retreating figure.

Kitty and Jubilee exchanged looks and traipsed after them in silence, disappearing down the corridor towards the kitchens.

Ororo watched them go. A few short words made their way to her lips. "Stay safe, little ones," she whispered. "May my father's strength go with you."

She went in the opposite direction. She didn't look back, striding to where she knew she was needed most. A change in the atmosphere, some electric surge along her skin, told her that something was afoot. It would have been obvious, even if she hadn't already known of it. She quickened her step in accordance.

"Father, help me this night. Help me to protect my children. Please." Her murmurs were feverish. "Give me the power I need. Give me… give me the strength to wield it once more."

Her answer came in an unnatural wind, which buffeted and tugged at her hair as she hurried along. A ghostly voice slipped along the corridor like some spirit fleeing the Reapers, twining in and out of her ankles and spinning a web of barely audible speech her footsteps crashed through.

"_I hear you, my daughter… I hear you…"_

* * *

Rogue marched into the kitchens with barely a glance. There was no need for her to look around; her senses had already told her that the place was deserted. A faint trace of cinnamon perforated the air, along with freshly baked bread and the warmth of recently deceased ovens.

The kitchens were just as she'd expected – roomy, obviously designed for working in, but empty and insincerely cold without more people and bustle to fill them.

Kurt followed her in, accompanied by Kitty and Jubilee. Kitty goggled at the sheer enormity of the place. Being the only one who hadn't seen them before, and the only one who cared enough to savour their bare grandeur, she stood for a moment, simply drinking in the sight. They were certainly magnificent. Famous throughout the temple's varied and well-travelled inhabitants as home to the best dishes ever tasted, there was a certain opulence imbued in the most mundane utensils and work surfaces she'd never seen before. The kitchens were full of deep and tasty memories.

Kurt's nose was working busily, catching fleeting aromas like a toad snares flies, and drinking them in like they were the elixir of life. This eventually led him to a far wall, where three bulging satchels were neatly stacked. Obviously, the cooks hadn't wanted them to go without due necessities.

"Over here. I've found them."

"Good." Rogue was at his side in an instant, swinging the satchel over her shoulder with grace akin to a lethal sylph.

Kurt jumped back in surprise, but saved himself from Bamfing away in a panic. He didn't want to embarrass himself with his cowardliness.

"Now we can get out of here," Rogue said. She picked up the other bag and tossed it at Kitty. "Shrimp! Catch!"

Kitty did, congratulating herself on not dropping the package this time. "Where to now?" she asked, swinging it over her shoulder.

"Out," Rogue replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And fast. We ain't got no time to lose. Battle's already started."

Jubilee, who had until this point been silent, jerked her head up. "What makes you say that?"

Rogue seemed puzzled, forgetting for a moment that none of them shared her innate training concerning these things. "Can't y'all tell? The air's changed. The tension's broken. That can only mean that the Silver Army's attacked already, which'll make our escape even more difficult." She grunted. "We may have to fight our way through their forces if they've got the temple surrounded. But I suppose we'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it. Hurry up, Elf, we ain't got all day."

Kurt was crouched on a tabletop and hastily stuffing cheese and bread into his mouth like there was no tomorrow. He shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, Fraulein, but all that practising really took it out of me. I need to re-energize or you know what'll happen, and I don't want to cut into my rations just yet."

"Yeah, probably better to, like, leave the building first," Kitty piped up. "Or else you'll have nothing left for later."

Rogue sighed, unable to argue. "Just be quick about it. The sooner we leave, the better."

Kurt gave her a quick salute, earning himself a pointed glare, which he duly ignored. Bits of cheese and bread flew in all directions as proceeded to consume what seemed like his own body weight in soft malted loaf and cheddar. There was a pitcher of water nearby – whether by coincidence or design. He took hearty swigs from it to help things on their way. Eventually he sat back on his haunches, rubbing his stomach with a sigh, and burped.

Then he froze.

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed.

His tail lashed and his ears twitched, flicking backwards until they were almost pressed flat against his skull. Quick as a flash, he launched himself from the table and high into the air. Seconds later a large decorated dagger buried itself in the wood where he'd been crouching. It made a loud 'thunk' that echoed profoundly.

Kitty gave a high gasp. Both Rogue and Jubilee whirled to face the main door.

Kurt landed neatly on the floor and also looked, but there was nothing and nobody there. He frowned. Someone had _definitely_ been there a second ago. Daggers did _not_ just materialize out of thin air and try to kill you all by themselves.

Did they?

After the strange thing's he'd been witness to recently, he couldn't be sure of anything anymore.

His ears pricked. He could hear nothing, and his frown deepened. He whirled as a 'snikt' cut the air, but it was only Rogue drawing her sword. She was also scanning the darkened kitchens for signs of life other than their own, and the frown gracing her features told him she was having no luck either.

The entire scene fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the sounds of breathing and their own hearts thrumming against their ribcages.

Just to be on the safe side, Kitty focused her mind and accessed her Changeling powers, making her body incorporeal. There was no point in taking chances if daggers were flying around.

A tiny noise, no more than a mouse-scratch. In an instant Rogue had dropped into a roll and thrust her sword forward. The tip struck only space, and a terrible mocking laughter filled the air. Everyone shivered. Such horrible noise was the stuff of nightmares; a hideous parody of what laughter should sound like, mixed up with the screams of all Seven Hells combined.

"Who's there?" Rogue demanded, standing up and stepping backwards towards the group. "Show yourself!"

All she received was laughter in return.

Her face became a mask of anger.

Abruptly, the laughter stopped. The silence that followed was deafening.

"Show yourself!" Rogue said again. "We ain't got no time for games!"

"Oh, but this is far more than a game." A gruff voice leaked from the shadows, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once. "Far more," it chuckled nastily.

Rogue blinked. There was something horribly familiar about that voice, and yet… it was frighteningly alien, like nothing she'd ever heard before.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "Show me!"

"Don't you know?" the voice asked. "I'm surprised at you. You've got sloppy, girl. What would Logan say if he could see you now? Mixing with non-assassins – pah! You're worse than you were the last time I saw you!"

She _did_ know that voice – she was sure of it; the reference to Logan said that much – but how and where remained tantalizingly out of reach. It had changed too much for her to pluck the time out of the air. She stalled, trying to figure it out in the hope the information would give them the edge.

At the back of her mind, she was faintly surprised that the voice hadn't attacked again. He obviously had the upper hand, but seemed to enjoy toying with them.

"You know Logan? Were you an assassin once?"

"Once and always," was the cryptic response. "Although now my allegiances are a little … different."

"You serve the Silver Sword, then."

"In a way. He helped me reach my true potential, and so my life now belongs to him. I am his servant, and carry out his orders as if they came from the Council of The Guild themselves."

Rogue scowled. "Who are you? Tell me."

The mocking laughter again, and a flicker of movement to her right. She spun, as did everyone else, and watched as a particularly black shadow peeled itself away from the wall and into a patch of moonlight from a high window. Rogue's eyes widened as she beheld the speaker. First a single foot came forward, huge and tipped with claws covered in dirt and soil. Then came a body swathed in the same cloak as herself, only twice as large. Finally the head came into view, concealed beneath a deep hood. As she looked on in abject horror, he tilted his neck, shaking the cowl back and revealing what lay beneath.

Kurt stared. Both Kitty and Jubilee shrank back at the sight.

The speaker's face was awash with coarse brown fur that hung from angular contours that had obviously never been meant for such a pelt. The only things detracting from this were the wicked fangs indenting his lips as he smiled, and the amber eyes fixed so solidly on Rogue. Such eyes as have struck terror into the hearts of men since the dawn of time. Such eyes as seemed to penetrate deep into your soul with merely a glance, and rip out your heart by just looking at your chest. If Kurt was part demon, then this creature was all beast. The raw savagery dripped off him like water off a wet dog, and he smirked malevolently in their direction.

"Hello."

In an instant she knew who it was. Revelation drove into Rogue's brain like an arrow, piercing her skull with a sudden, brutal light. "Emilios?"

He smiled. "So, you _do_ recognize me."

Kitty and Kurt gaped. From what Rogue had told them, the man known as Emilios was a weedy, rather pathetic person, made deadly only by his great hate and passion for violence. He was shrewd and insightful and cunning, and though these traits were clearly patent in the creature before them, there was nothing even slightly weedy or pathetic about him.

"What _happened_ to you?" Rogue breathed incredulously, looking him up and down.

"I received what you might call an 'upgrade'. And just for the record, I go by a different name now – as do you, _Rogue_."

She winced at the spite in his tone.

"I am no longer Emilios the Savage. He is dead. I am The Sabertooth, and you are my prey, by order of both the Guild Council _and_ The Silver Sword. You certainly have been making enemies for yourself recently, haven't you?"

Rogue's grip on her sword handle tightened. "You're the hunter sent to track me down," she surmised.

Sabertooth nodded.

"Though I wasn't without help."

At once, three other shadows detached themselves from the gloom at different points around the kitchen. Rogue regarded them stoically, taking in the gleam from their already drawn blades and their positions with regards to the exits.

"Four against one. Just your style, Emilios."

"I think you'll find my 'style' had altered dramatically since we last met." He flexed his claws and grinned. "And it's not Emilios anymore, remember? You really are very slow on the uptake, aren't you?"

Rogue's teeth gritted. She brought her sword out in front of her. "I've changed too, _Emilios_."

"So I see. Abandoning your kind for humans and the Silver Sword's mistakes. Bit of a lateral move if you ask me. But then again, you never did have the kind of commitment The Guild was after. Logan boasted about you so much. Always bragging, even with half a dozen pints down his neck. Practically said you hung the moon, you little whelp. But when everything's said and done, you're really _nothing_. A nobody. Useless, miserable, _nothing_. Not even fit to lick my toes."

A thought crossed Rogue's mind. Her face suddenly shifted from merely angry to deadly. When she spoke, her voice was flat, as she remembered the circumstances under which she'd last seen Emilios the Savage. "Where's Pietro?"

Sabertooth threw back his head and laughed. "In safe hands, Rogue. In the safest of hands."

"Logan told me he's at Belvedere. Did you take him there?"

"You've seen Logan?" All the humour evaporated from his voice. "I _knew_ it. I _knew_ he was still alive. They didn't believe me, but I knew he'd escaped. Damn Pebehock!"

Rogue took a meaningful step forward. "Where. Is. Pietro?"

Sabertooth looked down his nose at her. "Not with you. And he never will be again. You've lost him, Rogue. And to tell you the truth, you never really had him. He was always mine. And now he belongs to another, who os also not you."

With a heated cry Rogue started forward, but found her elbow caught and yanked backwards. Turning her head, she found herself staring into worried gold eyes. Kurt gazed pleadingly at her.

"Bitte, Rogue, don't. You'll be killed."

She pulled her arm away, conscious of Sabertooth's mocking stare that such a puny wretch of a boy could restrain her. however, Kurt stayed latched on like a furry blue limpet.

"Get away from me, Elf. Let me go. He's mine!"

"Nein! Fraulein, please listen to me. You said it yourself – we have to get away. Nothing else matters, not even him." He jerked his head at the towering behemoth of fur and malice, who seemed quite content just to watch them and not make a move at present. "Please, Rogue. _Please_."

Rogue looked at him, at the plea written in his eyes. He seemed so pathetic. He was counting on her. All of Earth-Realm was counting on her. Pietro was counting on her to get to him. Was she going to be sidetracked by an old hatred when so much rested on her shoulders? On one hand was her grudge against Logan's old rival, against his attempted _murderer_. On the other hand was Rei-Shima and the boy she loved.

She was torn, and she knew it.

Perhaps she would've said something, but at that moment they were interrupted.

"Ah, the halfling." Sabertooth snickered, eying Kurt with a cruel twinkle. "I was hoping to find you here. It seems the gods are smiling upon me recently. Everything's going my way."

Kurt glanced fearfully at the assassin, but Rogue placed herself in front of him and glared back. "You leave him alone. Your fight's with me, Emilios, not him."

Sabertooth shook his head and wagged one claw-tipped finger. "No, I'm afraid you're wrong there, Roguey. My orders are very specific – kill you _and_ the other two Soul Bearers. And unless I'm very much mistaken, that fuzz-ball is a Soul Bearer and the Silver Sword wants him dead. An order I'm only too happy to comply with." He smiled, running his tongue over razor-sharp fangs.

"You disgust me," Rogue spat. "Taking orders from a monster like him. Where's your honour? Where's your pride?"

"My honour lies with my master. A fact that you shunned a long time ago. And as for pride, I take a great pride in my work. Which is why I have something for the little halfling."

"Don't take it," Rogue hissed without even looking at Kurt. "Whatever it is, don't take it."

"Oh, he doesn't have to take it from me." Sabertooth reached beneath his cloak to where something hung from the belt at his waist. "I'm only too happy to give it freely to him. Been keeping it as a memento, actually, but I think _he'll_ appreciate it more."

Sabertooth casually removed a sizable bag tied with a leather thong, holding it out in front of him and pulling the ties from it. Yet he didn't open the bag. Instead, he waited a moment, reading the tense anticipation on all of their faces. He regarded the two females standing behind Rogue and the halfling. Both were pretty enough, and seemed scared of him. His smile widened. He liked his women scared. Perhaps he would have a little fun with them before he ripped out their throats.

"Enjoy." He hefted the bag into the air, letting it smack down a few feet in front of them.

Because there were no ties holding the pouch shut, it flew open when it hit the stone flags of the kitchen floor. The contents contained escaped on impact, rolling free and coming to rest right at Kurt's feet.

Kurt stared at it, horrified. His stomach lurched. He struggled to keep his feet, as a sudden wave of nausea overtook him. A retching whimper permeated the air, and after a few seconds he realised it was his own, making him sound exactly like the child he felt like inside. All his defences, all the carefully constructed softenings he'd set up since joining with Rogue were ripped down in an instant, leaving him emotionally naked and in pain.

Staring back at him, sunken and dead, were the white eyes of Raven the Dark. Mystique the Seer.

His mother.

Her lustrous hair was lank and brittle, splayed out around her like some sickening halo. Her skin had taken on a taunt, gruesome pallor, and the inevitable decay was plain. Flakes of dried blood were scattered where she'd bounced, but it was her expression that truly contorted his insides. Etched into her face was nothing but pure, unadulterated terror. The kind of terror reserved only for nightmares and pain eternal. The fear of harm promised to a loved one. The fear of death. The fear of fear itself.

She gazed at him solidly, lifelessly. Her head cut from her body and kept as a grisly souvenir by the one who'd murdered her in his quest for vengeance. The one who'd framed Rogue and removed any hope Kurt had ever had of returning home again. The one who'd slain his only family.

Sabertooth.

Kurt's legs buckled. He slumped to the floor. Kitty dashed forward, switching to her solid form, and knelt beside him. He leant against her, shuddering as grief-stricken sobs wracked his body, all the time unable to keep from looking at the partly decomposed remnant of his mother.

His mother.

"M… Mutti…" he wept inconsolably. "Meine… Mutti… w… why…?"

Kitty stroked his hair, pressing him to her and trying to force his face away from the macabre sight. But it was no use. Kurt wouldn't – couldn't – look away. Some part of him disallowed him the right, and he gazed into those unresponsive white eyes as if he expected them suddenly to blink, the frozen mouth to twitch into a smile and whisper comforting words to her little boy like she'd done when he was just a baby.

Eventually it was too much. Raven's severed head, the food he'd eaten, the stress of crying too much; all of it gathered in Kurt's stomach. He gagged, shuddered, and vomited all over the floor.

Kitty disregarded being splattered, instead hugging him closer and shushing him gently as they rocked back and forth to the tune of his continuing sobs. She felt tears come to her own eyes, but blinked them away, trying to be strong for his sake. Trying to be the staff to hold him up as he struggled.

And then another sound joined them. The harsh mocking laughter that had oozed from the shadows, but now tinctured with a disgusting delight at the pain and hurt inflicted without even having to lift a finger. Sabertooth laughed loud and long.

Kurt's head came up. Tears streamed through his fur and down his cheeks, but his eyes flashed with an inner fire nobody had ever seen before. For the first time in his life, Kurt hated. He glowered at Sabertooth with nothing but loathing, and fangs jutted from his mouth as he finally found his voice.

"Sie Bastard!"

Before Kitty could do anything, he'd wrenched from her embrace and launched himself at Sabertooth, eyes flashing and teeth bared in a show of ferocity that betrayed his demonic roots. She pitched forward, reaching out after him with a desperate cry.

"No, Kurt! _Stop_!"

Her shout fell on deaf ears. He was deaf, blind and mute towards anything but the laughing monster who'd ripped away the only family he had and ground it into the dust with his foot, even going so far as to defile his mother's body after he'd already murdered her.

Sabertooth watched him with glee, not moving from his spot. Instead he folded his arms and waited for the screeching elf to arrive.

Kurt was mere inches away when another dark form darted in front of him. He didn't even see the butt of the sword coming until it smashed into his jaw, knocking him backwards to land awkwardly on his side. He skidded a few feet, looking up to see the gleam of silver as the same sword arced down toward him with unavoidable speed. He didn't even have time to Bamf, and cold dread washed through him, creating a bitter tang in his mouth.

There was a clang of metal striking metal, and another figure was abruptly standing over him. Rogue's sword locked with the other assassin's, their faces almost touching and arm-muscles juddering as each tried to force the other back.

As if this were a starting bell, the battle began in earnest.

A small assassin flew towards Kitty, who was still getting up from the floor. She turned an instant before he reached her, throwing up her hands fruitlessly against his attack. Yet he never struck, because a blast of colourful lights slammed into his chest and threw him back against the opposite wall with a sickening thud. He slid down and crumpled in a mindless heap on the floor.

Jubilee grasped Kitty's arm, hoisting her upright whilst her own hands still glowed with the aftermath of her attack.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Kitty replied, scanning the room. "But where's Kurt?"

Her question was answered as a familiar blue shape materialized on a nearby worktop, neatly avoiding a knife thrown by the last assassin in Sabertooth's group. The killer's cowl had come down, revealing a nut-brown face set with deep frown-wrinkles and serious hazel eyes. He scowled at Kurt, charging forward with sword drawn and a determined yell.

But Kurt wasn't interested in such small game. He had eyes only for Sabertooth, and nimbly dodged the onslaught in favour of speeding headlong towards the behemoth again. Along the way he had enough foresight to pick up the same knife that had been aimed at him, clenching it in his dexterous tail as he ran on all fours through the melee.

Had Rogue not been fully occupied she might have noticed this, but she had her hands full with her own opponent. Sweat beaded on her forehead, as she tried in vain to force him backward. Under other circumstances she might have had the upper hand, but her recent illness and lack of real practice were telling. She gritted her teeth and set her feet, throwing all her weight against him in the hope of toppling him backwards, or at least freeing her blade long enough to use it.

As they struggled, her opponent's hood slipped and Rogue recognised the face beneath – Salfos the Strong. They'd been sparring partners a few times when she was still in The Guild, and had certainly lived up to his title back then. However, if she remembered rightly, he'd always made the mistake of relying too heavily on his muscle, and didn't have nearly as much speed as other assassin's his age. She prayed this was still the case.

Twisting her sword sideways, she pulled back, slightly releasing her blade from the deadlock it was in. Salfos hadn't been expecting such a move. He was carried forward, off-balance enough that Rogue could easily stick her foot out and kick his feet from beneath him. Salfos went sprawling, and Rogue darted forward with the intention of pressing her blade into his throat.

A deep roar from above snagged her attention, and a great shadow fell across her as Sabertooth drove in for a sudden, devastating attack. With all her efforts focused on Salfos Rogue had left her back exposed, and the 'upgraded' assassin had readily taken the opportunity to attack her.

A screaming bundle of fur rammed into his face, latching onto his head with teeth as needle-sharp as his own. Kurt hissed as he scrabbled at Sabertooth's skull, scratching and biting viciously at any exposed area he could get at without being swatted off. Sabertooth snarled with frustration, trying to knock him away, but staggered backwards when the dagger in Kurt's tail jabbed into his shoulder.

Rogue looked on with horror.

"Elf, no!"

A dark movement appeared in the corner of her eye. She threw herself sideways, as a sudden searing pain lanced across her cheek. Salfos cursed, and Rogue knew that had she been a millisecond slower he would have skewered her head like a spit. She winced, feeling a trickle of blood run down her face. She had to be more careful and focus on what she was doing. What was is Logan had always said – always keep one eye on your prey? Well, this wasn't prey, but the sentiment was the same. Salfos was a dangerous adversary and not to be taken lightly. Yet somehow, she couldn't help her gaze from sliding left to see what was happening between Kurt and Sabertooth.

_The Elf ain't no match for him. He's just too strong! I dunno if even **I** could take Emilios now. He's changed too much. He ain't even human no more._

Enraged, Sabertooth stretched up until his shoulders screamed and clamped his claws around the base of Kurt's tail. He yanked downwards, pulling the pest from his perch and slamming him against the floor.

Deep scores ran through the tender flesh on Kurt's hypersensitive tail. He squealed in pain, letting the knife slip to the ground. He rolled aside as a huge foot attempted to crush his skull, immediately leaping back to fasten onto Sabertooth's leg with his jaws. This elicited another roar, this time more of anger than hurt, and Kurt found himself kicked into the air like a rag doll. He landed squarely on Sabertooth's fist.

"_Kurt_!" Kitty screamed ineffectually, running towards him with Jubilee hot on her heels.

Their efforts were hampered by the assassin who'd previously attacked Kurt, when he rushed in to slash at them. Kitty had been so concerned with Kurt's fate that she'd neglected to return to her semi-permeable form, and a deep cut opened up in her forearm. She cried out, clutching her wound and stumbling backwards in shock. Jubilee tried to check her mad flight but was caught up in the stumble. The two girls fell heavily to the flagstones.

The assassin – whom Rogue absently recognised as Hariq the Skilful – pressed forward with a triumphant light in his eyes, and shifted his grip on his sword to plunge the tip straight down. He was aiming for Jubilee's heart, since her chest was the easiest to discern in the tangle of limbs. However, somehow through the confusion Kitty managed to grab her and activated her Changeling power just in time to let the blade pass harmlessly through them.

Hariq blinked, not expecting such a move. He stood like a blank statue as Jubilee wrenched one arm free and blasted him with another beam of coloured lights. The beam was as effective as ever, sending him flying backwards without his sword, which Kitty quickly extracted from the Jubilee's chest.

"Thanks."

"Now we're even," Kitty replied, releasing her wrist and letting her resume solid form.

Rogue wheezed as she was slammed backward into a table. Her spine screeched as it twisted the wrong way, but she couldn't right herself because of the blade pressed to her throat. Try as she might, she couldn't push Salfos off, and with every passing second his sword got that little bit closer to the vein where her lifeblood flowed. Her own sword was held vertically in front of her face, but the way things were going _it_ was likely to be the one that slit her throat. It would have been ironic, had it not been so serious. She couldn't even reach for her dagger, since both arms were needed just to keep Salfos at bay.

Her eyes darted to where Sabertooth was approaching Kurt, but she could do nothing about it. Kurt wasn't moving. He looked very small and weak. She cursed verbosely at her own helplessness.

As if in answer to this, Kurt lifted his head. His nose was bloody, one eyelid already beginning to swell, and blood oozed from a cut on his cheek. Fire blazed along the length of his tail, but that was forgotten as he eyed the formidable bulk of Sabertooth coming towards him. Kurt spat a reddened tooth onto the floor, heaving himself upright and trying to stand. Instantly, his tail went from simple pain to inexorable agony, and it was all he could do to keep from blacking out.

A hand grasped the front of his clothes, yanking them up until they all but strangled him and hoisting him into the air. Kurt gagged, but could do nothing except kick empty space. The pain in his tail was all consuming. It made it impossible to do anything but think about how badly it hurt. The idea of Bamfing away didn't even occur to him. His mind was on fire.

Kitty and Jubilee dashed across the kitchen to help him, but found themselves beset upon by the two remaining assassins, who had regrouped and renewed their assault. Hariq leapt at Jubilee, narrowly avoiding another blast of her powers and slicing neatly through the flesh of her thigh with his dagger. Jubilee yelled as a damp red stain began spreading across the fabric of her robe, clutching at it wildly to staunch the blood-flow and firing her powers wildly.

Kitty was luckier. She saw the smallest of the assassins – which, by the power of elimination could only have been Pablo – before he struck, and threw herself aside as he rushed her. Pablo's sword hit only air, and he dropped into a roll to double back and attack again.

Kitty's wild leap had sent her several feet. Her shoulder connected solidly with a nearby cupboard, the contents of which spilled out over the floor. She looked up at the battle cry Pablo emitted as he charged again, and grabbed the only thing she could find, jabbing it upwards as he dove at her.

Pablo screamed and dropped his sword as if it was a red-hot coal. He stumbled backwards, leaving a trail of crimson splatters from where the kitchen knife had impaled his hand. The sword clattered to the floor, where Kitty scooped it up and held it out grimly before her. She'd been wearing her new clothes for less than an hour and already they were covered in blood and grime.

Pablo backed away, still holding his injured hand. The knife jutted savagely up and protruded from both sides, making Kitty feel slightly sick. Yet she knew enough not to give him the advantage of pulling it out and using it as a weapon against her. Not for the first time in this fight she thanked the gods for Rogue's combat lessons.

Suddenly, she caught sight of something beyond Pablo. Jubilee was backed up against a wall, and Hariq was advancing on her with his dagger drawn and dripping blood. The Underling's body seemed to be sagging, and Kitty noticed with horror that part of the lower half of her robe was soaked a deep scarlet. She remembered something about veins in thighs, and how they were like veins in necks.

Utilizing her Changeling powers, Kitty plunged forward and barrelled through Pablo. He tried to grab at her, but fell. She briefly saw how his forehead smashed against a table and he crumpled to the floor. There was no time to consider him, though. She uttered something akin to a war cry and ran full pelt at where Hariq had Jubilee cornered, making herself solid so her sword would be too.

The assassin turned an instant before she arrived, bringing up his dagger for her to run onto and spear herself. There wasn't even time to consider her next move. Kitty's speed was too great for her to avoid the dagger, and her eyes widened in alarm at her own foolhardiness.

It was then that Kitty did something she'd never even considered doing before. Her body seemed to take on a life of its own, and her mind became strangely clouded as combat moves she'd never learned flowed easily from her limbs. They executed themselves with perfect - if lethal - grace and timing. Her hands flicked the sword they held sideways, deftly parrying Hariq's blow. At the same time her feet took her the other way, and she wrenched the sword back and twisted it round before slicing downwards, taking off his hand with a single swipe.

Hariq shrieked in pain. His yell was abruptly cut off as Kitty's foot connected with his jaw. She wasn't strong enough to knock him out, but he staggered a few paces and looked on incredulously as she twirled the sword round, ready to attack him again.

If he was surprised, then Kitty was astonished. Never before had she performed such advanced fighting moves, nor been so harsh as to even _think_ of cleaving off another person's hand. Some part of her brain told her that she should abhor what she'd just done, but another, stronger part informed her that it was the only way. Had the roles been reversed, it was doubtful Hariq would have shown any mercy, or that she would have lost just her hand.

One thing was for certain. If there had been any remaining doubt in her mind as to the existence of Rei-Shima's soul inside her, then now it had been well and truly erased. Where else could such clarity of mind have come from? Or the competence of swordplay she'd exhibited but never actually learned?

Kitty backed up a few steps to the wall and hissed over her shoulder.

"Jubilee, you okay?"

All she received in reply was a muffled moan. Kitty risked a quick glance. Jubilee's face was tight and pale, her breathing laboured – indicative the obvious agony she was in. She'd been reduced to clinging to the wall in order to stay upright. Kitty wasn't really given to swearing, but she muttered a vehement curse at the state the other girl had been reduced to in such a short amount of time.

Another angry cry – female this time, and all too familiar – caused Kitty to swivel her head and look beyond where Hariq was trying to staunch the blood from his severed hand with his cloak.

Rogue was still valiantly fighting Salfos, and the two appeared to be evenly matched. Yet this wasn't what had made Rogue cry out. Beyond them was something that made Kitty's stomach churn and her blood run cold.

Sabertooth was – to put it bluntly – beating Kurt to death. Kurt hung limply from his grasp, battered and bloody, with blows still raining down on him from the assassin's huge fist. Red sprayed into the air with every cunningly dealt hit. Sabertooth was strong, but he had lost of Emilios's talent for hurt. He didn't like to be denied his prey, and was making sure Kurt experienced the most pain he could before he died.

Kitty yelled, but could do nothing to help him. Jubilee was too badly injured to move, and though Hariq was wounded he was still a force to be reckoned with. He had pulled a phial from his belt and downed the contents – obviously some sort of powerful painkiller, since he was still on his feet. It was common knowledge that, unlike many warriors, assassins are taught from an early age to be ambidextrous, and as adept with a blade in one hand as the other. There was no way the two girls could get past him without risking more grievances, and it was plain from the look on his face that he wasn't going to allow Kitty passage without serious payback for the loss of his hand.

"Kurt! _Kurt_!" Kitty called furiously, but Sabertooth just kept right on hitting and gouging and cutting him.

Rogue gritted her teeth and summoned an inhuman amount of strength. Gasping with effort, she off Salfos off quickly rapped first his knuckles, then his skull with the butt of her sword. His weapon fell to the floor, closely followed by his body. Bleeding from a dozen different places, she then roared forward towards where the unfair beating was playing out.

Unlike Kitty, Rogue's flight wasn't so much headlong as it was swift. Logan's title had apparently also left its mark on her during her training. She sped low, aiming not for Sabertooth's upper body as he would've expected, but for his lower limbs, hoping to incapacitate him.

However, she hadn't counted on Sabertooth's 'upgrade'. Impossibly, he sensed her footsteps and turned almost casually to punch her in the face.

Rogue flew back several feet, crashing into a table – ironically the one Salfos had pinned her against – and toppling it over.

Sabertooth smiled. Flecks of Kurt's blood ran through his facial fur, giving him a demonic look. His pupils had narrowed according to his rage. Now they were mere slits, and the irises around them shone fiercely with the light of victory as he finally landed a blow upon the girl he'd come to destroy.

Rogue leapt to her feet, facing off against Sabertooth from behind the overturned table. Unceremoniously, he flung Kurt's limp body aside. Kurt bounced and rolled to a halt in an awkward position, eyelids fluttering faintly, but otherwise still. A groan escaped his lips, and a tremor ran through his muscles, yet he remained where he was, small puddles of blood pooling around him.

A snarl curled Rogue's lip. "Bastard!"

Sabertooth only smiled. He took one loaded step forward. He seemed quite unconcerned with his two fallen charges, and paid Salfos's unconscious body as much heed as he would a piece of dirt as he stepped over it. Spittle gathered at the corner of his mouth, and he nodded to himself.

A spark of uneasiness started in Rogue's breast. She wasn't sure she could take him, and the expression on his face clearly told of his plans for her and the others if she couldn't. She was staring death in the eye, and she could see her own reflection.

Without warning, Sabertooth thundered forward. Rogue brought her blade up, and managed to cut the palm of his hand, but he knocked it aside and tore the sword from her grasp altogether. She stumbled, sent off balance by the force of his pull. He took the opportunity to smash into her, shoulder first, and pin her brutally to the ground with his claws.

"Rogue!" she heard Kitty shout, but could think of nothing but air as her lungs were crushed under Sabertooth's immense weight. The world became a miasma of vague blotches, as she fought for air.

Sharp talons dug into her shoulders. The metal of her armour crunched and warped under Sabertooth's immense strength and weight. Warm breath blew into Rogue's ear as he lowered his head and whispered softly to her.

"So many big words, eh, Marie? But where are they now? Where did they get you? Pietro's gone. You failed him. And now you've failed all these others. So many broken promises. Lying little bitch. Time to die."

Gasping, Rogue squeezed a few words from her gullet. "Go…. to… hell!" And she spat in his face.

Sabertooth roared. He lifted one claw from her shoulder as if to rip her face clean off.

However, Rogue felt his weight suddenly ease off her a little as he arched his spine, scrabbling at his back. With her airway released from the stranglehold she gratefully sucked in a lungful of air, marvelling at how she could take something so deliciously sweet for granted every single second of every single day.

Sabertooth whirled round, snarling.

Kurt stood, wobbling and swaying, with his arm still outstretched and chest heaving. It was amazing that he was still conscious, but a strange light burned brightly in his eyes – a light akin to the one that had graced Kitty's as she hacked off Hariq's hand like a trained warrior. The knife he'd dropped earlier hadn't been thrown accurately, but was now buried deep in Sabertooth's shoulder.

Unfortunately, this lack of accuracy only served to send Sabertooth into a mad frenzy. He stood with a foot pressing down on Rogue's midriff, and reached down with one hand to yank her dagger from her belt. She tried to grab at it, but he stamped on her, crushing her belly so that she thought she'd burst, and once again emptying the pocket of air from her lungs. Were it not for her armour, she would have been dead.

Setting aside his preference for teeth and claws as weapons, Sabertooth took aim and pulled back his arm to throw the small blade deep into Kurt's heart. There was nowhere for Kurt to run, but it didn't matter since he was, at present, incapable of running anyway. He took one step and fell to his knees, too blinded by pain to even Bamf away.

Rogue couldn't fill her lungs in time to help him.

Kitty watched with horror, unable to get past Hariq without leaving Jubilee; unable to drag Jubilee along without injuring her further. "**KURT**!"

Sabertooth took aim, and -

A sudden explosion rocked the room. It blossomed around Sabertooth, catching him unawares and making the dagger fall from his claws.

Kitty glanced at Jubilee, but she was just as surprised as everybody else at the blast. There was no telltale glow around her hands, either.

Sabertooth's cries echoed around the kitchen, but nobody made any move to help him – not even Hariq. He simply looked on, as much an awe-struck observer as the others. Nobody moved, nobody spoke – their very breaths seemed stilled.

But despite how violent the explosion was, it wasn't enough to subdue Sabertooth. The assassin rolled on the floor, dousing the flames that threatened to engulf him. His fur was singed, and gave off an evil-smelling smoke. Amber eyes cast around, searching for the cause of his unanticipated fire-bath.

His gaze fell upon something that made him snarl with anger, and everyone else gasp with wonder.

Kurt was slumped forward, but hadn't fallen on his face. A new figure was holding him up – a figure in magenta robes and livid mask. She glared at Sabertooth with unmodified fury.

Sabertooth blinked. "A new player in the game?"

Kitty and Rogue goggled, and as Jubilee forced her own eyes open a crack, she couldn't help her mouth dropping open in shock at who had sought them out and joined the battle.

"Nobody hurts my Kurt," Tabby growled. "_Nobody_!"

* * *

To Be Continued…

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And now, even though they're looooong overdue, here are some **Review Responses**!

I hope the little titbits droppd in this chapter help you figure out more about Ororo, **Quill of Molliemon**. There'll be more featuring her in the next chapter. Um... 'soon' is a relative concept. Heh-heh.

Neither can I, **Kitrazzle Fayn**. I've grown to like Lance and Todd a lot more since I wrote this, but... nope. they're got other things to worry about.

Layer cake! Or not. Subplots are a wonderful thing. I'm pleased you think so, too, **AerinBrown**. Although they do have a tendency to take over the main plot, too. Little bleeders.

You're not paranoid, **hootild**. And no, those aren't people with guns behind you. Not in the least.

Yay! nice to hear from you, **Skids**. Although I did keep getting flashbacks to the old New Mutants/X-Force character when I read your name.

Hey there, **koriaena**.

Rogue, Kitty and Kurt will be on the road gain shortly, **UnknownSource**. They just have that pesky assassination plot to deal with first. Nothing much. Just your average everyday life-threatening peril. And you squee? I must tape-record that noise and use it for blackmail purposes...

You shall find out what Ororo's up to forthwith, **Ashika**, I promise. And, if I do say so myself, it's nothing to be sniffed at.

Hope to see y'all next time. And remember, when life gives you lemons... write _Of Beast and Blade _reviews with them!


	23. Blood in the Night

**A/N **- Many thanks to everyone who reviewed last time. In accordance with FFN ruling, review replies have been moved to my Livejournal (where I'm known as Obabscribbler). I'd also like to point out that this chapter, and all preceding chapters, were written back in 2002. They take so long to come out because I'm constantly ripping them to shreds and putting them back together again, and because I'm never happy with how they end up and can't face showing them to people until I'm badgered to do so. Sharion, your reviewwent a long way to making this one happen, so this chapter is dedicated to you.

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Chapter Twenty- **Blood in the Night**

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© Scribbler, October 2005.

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'Older men declare war. But it is youth that must fight and die.' – Herbert C. Hoover, 1944.

* * *

Everything hurt. His arms, his legs, his tail, even his skin seemed to smoulder with pain. The roots of his fur ached and it brought waves of agony just to open his eyes. The light was blinding, and there was a foul stench of something that really shouldn't be burning but was anyway.

Kurt could've sworn he was hallucinating. A pale face hovered around his vision, liberally covered in the odd war paint he'd learned some women thought made them look attractive. As a pained gasp escaped his lips, a pair of heavily made-up eyes looked down at him. He realised he was hooked in someone's arms.

"Hey there, Fuzzy," Tabby greeted in a manner so cheerful as to be totally inappropriate to the situation. "How's it hanging?"

"T… Tabby," he stuttered. "Wh… what… where's Sabertooth?"

"If you mean that ensorcelled housecat, then he's over there." She gestured with a nod of her head. "And this may be an understatement, but he doesn't look too pleased, either."

Kurt swivelled stiffly to look.

Rogue lay on her back next to an overturned table. Even from here it was plain to see that her chest-plate was scratched and dented and she was having trouble breathing. The unconscious form of a young assassin lay nearby, and towering over him was the formidable bulk of an enraged Sabertooth.

Slowly, things started to come back to Kurt, dripping into his mind like syrup. "Kätzchen! Jubilee!"

Tabby sighed, as if she'd somehow been expecting that. "Over there. Although I was kind of hoping for a 'thank you for saving my butt' first."

Kurt's eyes widened a little more as he espied Kitty, standing in front of Jubilee, whose robe was soaked with blood. Before them was another assassin, this time fully conscious, but so busy watching Sabertooth that he didn't seem to realise the two girls were even there.

Everything seemed so … stilted. Like a moment frozen in time for no reason other than the gods had felt like it. The air held a tinny taste of unreality, and yet when he moved the pain he felt reminded him that it was very real.

Unsolicited, an image suddenly sprang to his mind, bringing with it a surge of tears. Red hair spread like a sickening halo. Cold, lifeless eyes. Flakes of dried blood littering the floor. A drawstring pouch. The salt from his tears stung as they found their way into the multitude of cuts peppering his face and neck.

"Meine Mutti. Sie ist tot. Er tötete sie."

"Huh?" Tabby was confused, which wasn't surprising given that Common Tongue was her first and only language.

Kurt struggled to stand up.

"Whoa! Watch it there, Fuzzy," she warned, all the time keeping one eye on the curiously still Sabertooth.

"Where is it? Where is she?" Kurt gabbled. "She was here a minute ago! What's he done to her now?"

"Who?"

"My mother! There! There she is!"

Tabby's gaze followed where he pointed, coming to rest upon Mystique's gruesome remains. It was nestled against Salfos's leg.

"Let me go, I have to get to her!" he wailed, lunging lopsidedly. His legs couldn't hold him up and he stumbled back into Tabby's arms. For the first time since she'd met him, he didn't shy away from he touch, and she stared at the remnant of Raven the Dark in a new light. A shrivelled husk it might be, but it meant a lot to him, and that was good enough for her.

Unfortunately, she wasn't the only one to witness Kurt's outburst, nor the first to realize just how much the grisly little memento meant to him. A spiteful smile split Sabertooth's face. In a flash he'd darted for the skull, claws outstretched to destroy it. Maliciousness was a trait he was famous for, and it was well known in assassin circles that the man once known as Emilios the Savage, given the chance, liked to torture his victims before he killed them, holding personal satisfaction even above the swiftness of dispatch for which the Guild was famed. He knew that harming Raven's remains would likely drive Kurt over the edge, and revelled in the knowledge that he could have control over a person's state of mind as well as their life.

A small sphere of light arced through the air and exploded against his chest. He was blown backwards, off his feet and into the opposite wall with a sickening crunch.

Tabby dashed to the skull and picked it up. With tremendous self-control, she refrained from the perfunctory 'Eeeeeew!' or holding it at arm's length. Instead, she carried it carefully back to where Kurt was crouched and gave it to him. He cradled it lovingly, whispering to it like it was a frightened child.

"Don't worry, Mutti. I won't let him take you from me again. I'll see you safe, ich verspreche."

Had the object of his affections not been so macabre, the scene might have been touching.

Rogue, still gasping for air, heaved herself upright. It was the work of a moment for her to find her sword. "Come… on, Emilios. I know you're not … down. Let's fin… ish this…"

With a snarl, Sabertooth leapt for her throat. "_I'm not Emilios! I'm SABERTOOTH!_"

Rogue brought her sword up again, but improved upon the last time by dropping into a forward roll beneath him as he sailed over her. Deftly, though not deftly enough, she opened up a long gash from his chest to his groin. Sliced fur rained down on her, mixed with hot blood that splashed into her eyes. Yet it was no more than a flesh wound, his thick pelt taking most of the strike. Still, it at least answered one question: now she knew Sabertooth's increased bulk meant he didn't wear armour. Presumably because none had ever been crafted that could hold all of him in it without splitting.

Sabertooth roared as he careened over Rogue's head, extending his palms to break his fall. The new wound threw him off balance, and he skidded on his own blood, skittering to an ungainly halt. He had barely enough time to whip round before Rogue attacked again, slashing and jumping clear before he could gouge her with those deadly claws. Another cut opened up in his shoulder. He snarled in pain and fury.

Kitty looked on in amazement. Despite impossible odds, Rogue actually seemed to be gaining an upper hand in her fight. Her wonderment couldn't last long, however. At that moment, Hariq snapped from his trance and turned on her. His right hand was a mass of bloody bandages made from his cloak, and his eyes were glazed with something unnatural. He quickly bent to retrieve his fallen blade with his left hand. Seeing what he was up to, Kitty shifted the grip on her own sword to swipe at him. Her feet took her forward even as his knees bent, and she raised her arms above her head to strike him down.

Suddenly a strange thundering filled the air. The room shook. The huge doors to the ovens rattled. Kitty stumbled. Sabertooth, already in mid-leap, found himself once again aiming for nothing but empty air as the force of it knocked Rogue sideways and she was forced to grip the overturned table for support.

Tabby voiced the question on all their minds. "What the _hell_ was that?"

As if in answer, another tremor rocked the room. The ovens trembled again, utensils, pots, pans and other paraphernalia clattering to the floor.

Rogue glanced out of the window, remembering her own pronouncement that the battle with the Silver Army had already begun. Yet another tiny, eerie change in the atmosphere told her that these tremors must originate from the same fight. They made her feel distinctly uneasy. This area wasn't famed for quakes. Only a sorcerer or Changeling could be causing the ground to move, and it was ridiculous to think one of the Temple people would destabilise the foundations of their own home. If such beings were in the Silver Sword's employ then they were going to make any chance of escape that much harder. Not only that, but it couldn't bode well for any temple members fighting with them outside. Frustration mounted within her that she couldn't help them in their fight.

A muffled snarl to her left snapped her back to reality. She barely had time to duck before a ball of sparkling light exploded beside her, and Sabertooth was sent flying again. He landed several feet away, on all fours like a cat.

"Watch it!" Tabby commanded, drawing Kurt's trembling body close. "I can't keep saving _your_ butt all the time. I got other worries." She pressed Kurt protectively against her chest. Curiously, he made no move to disentangle himself from her.

Rogue swore again as Sabertooth returned, his claws clanging against the metal of her sword as she parried his assault. Questing fingers found their way past, but she twisted her blade around and hacked one off. It plopped unobtrusively to the ground.

"_My hand_!" he howled. "You'll _pay _for that!"

Rogue might have said, "I doubt it," but the words died in her throat, their corpses lost in the ensuing scuffle

* * *

Jean gritted her teeth, planting the suggestion in an attacking soldier's mind that he'd like to jump from his rope rather than climb it. The suggestion sent him into a tree's embrace. Then she flipped another few grappling hooks off the battlements with her telekinesis, but could do no more to them as a fresh wave abruptly claimed her attention.

No matter how many invaders she removed, there always seemed to be ten more ready to take each of their places. The fact that she couldn't bring herself to _kill _any of them wasn't helping, but the psychic backlash was too heavy to contemplate it. Sweat beaded her forehead. Her breathing had become laboured with the overexertion of her powers, but she couldn't stop. If she stopped they'd get in, and what she'd seen in their minds told her that only death could follow that. All she could hope was to incapacitate enough of them to drive them back.

The battle hadn't begun so long ago, but already the ground below was littered with bodies, courtesy of those with no psychic powers. Jean spent a considerable portion of her abilities keeping herself out of their dying minds. Small puffs of colour that only she could see went up from each fatality, flitting eagerly into the night sky.

Rahne had been wrong in her assumption that there were only a few scores of enemy troops. The forest was _teeming _with them. They crawled out as they were needed, swinging into action with strangely apathetic faces and regulated movements. Each was equipped with a grappling hook, and all were intent on scaling the temple walls, or else dying in the attempt.

Jean could hear the battle continuing all around the temple perimeter, much the same as where she was. Temple Changelings were positioned everywhere, using their powers to drive back the invaders as best they could. Yet the defenders were few and far between, if simply because of the great size of the temple and the length of the wall that stretched around it. Consequently, their forces were taxed to their limits just keeping the Silver Army at bay. In their present condition there was no way they could actually _win_. It was taking everything they had just to keep from being overrun.

Sometimes Silvites managed to clamber over the battlements, but Lupine-Rahne and her pack of dogs, assembled from all over the castle, were patrolling ceaselessly. Their numbers far eclipsed the offensively-powered Changelings, and anybody unlucky enough to make it in – they were always in ones or twos when successful – was immediately faced with several pairs of snapping jaws and tearing claws, which either sent them back over the stonework, or else ripped them to shreds where they stood. For protection and defending a home, you just couldn't beat a canid.

However, not even such valiant creatures could stand against cold hard steel, and a number of furry bodies were also draped pitifully about the battlements. Jean hoped fervently that Rahne wasn't amongst them.

Another tremor ran through the ground, making Jean lose her footing slightly. Damn it, where was the one doing that? She could sense that the one responsible for the small earthquakes periodically rocking the temple and disorientating the inhabitants was a Changeling, but it seemed to be one of those rare people with an inherent knack of shielding their thoughts without even trying. All she could pick up was a vague location, nothing specific. She would've been irked, had she not been so occupied.

A spear narrowly missed her head. She shrank back to avoid further projectiles. Her foot caught against something and she stumbled. Her stomach lurched; she didn't need to look down to see what she'd tripped over. Underling Ray's corpse had been the first thing she'd seen when she reached the watchtower to investigate why it wasn't manned. His throat had been torn out, his body already gone cold. The candle in the lamp had long since gone out, and Jean somehow knew that whoever had killed him was already in the temple. Then the attack began, and she'd had no time or attention to spare for to seeking the intruder out.

Waving her hands about wildly, she proceeded to disarm a soldier who'd made it over the battlements without meeting any of Rahne's crew, before tipping him backwards over the edge. Again, he met tree branches that broke his fall.

Jean had long since given up trying to reach out to convince the soldiers they wanted to turn back completely. Their minds were closed off and bound by potent magicks, keeping them loyal to their lord and master and his wishes. All she could trace was a faint longing for release that permeated even his strong sorcery, which later turned into the coloured puffs of smoke. The best she could do was plant short-term suggestions, and even those didn't always work.

A cry to her left alerted her an Underling who'd taken a hit in his side. He stumbled, dark blood trickling down his robes. Hot blasts of flame swirled from his hands, drawn from a small fire by his feet that flickered but never burned him. Each blast visibly weakened, as the bloodstain grew larger. It was spreading at a most alarming rate. Jean sensed his fear, but also the cold recognition that he was going to die soon. A sort of bleak resignation formed like a lump in her stomach, spreading queasiness throughout her system. She couldn't bear the thought of losing another temple member. In the mass of corpses she could make out flashes of robes, and each glimpse made her heart shudder.

This was _not_ supposed to happen. The Temple of The Way was a peaceful sect. Why did they have to die simply because they housed homeless Changelings?

**_No, you're not!_**she silently called out to the stricken Underling. **_You're not going to die yet! Have faith_!**

His head jerked up, startled by her mental call. He didn't even see the javelin, much less move out of its path. It pierced his midriff, lodging midway. He grunted, turning surprised and questioning eyes on the watchtower. Jean's hands flew to her mouth, her mind still snarled up in his. Then he crumpled the same way the enemy soldier had mere moments ago, body twirling and spinning until it hit the ground far below with what could've only been a sickening crunch.

Jean was shocked. Her mouth dropped open and she stared at where he'd been. His blood was still wet on the smooth grey stones, running into the grooves and dispersing across the uneven surfaces. The suddenness of his death slammed into her consciousness like a sledgehammer, compounded by the fact that her comforting shout had been what made him lose his concentration. She actually _felt _his awareness sputter and go out. It left her breathless and bewildered, bogged down in escaping memories of sunny days, sand between her toes and the smell of dried out seaweed.

"Hi there, gorgeous."

Still bewildered, Jean turned. On the edge of the watchtower was a funny looking boy with shaggy hair and a greenish tinge to his skin. Yellowy eyes gleamed as they looked in, looking at her with an air she could only describe as intensely hungry. His feet were tucked under him, and one filthy hand was pressed against one of the poles that held up the roof. He wore a dreary outfit of brown and grey, the only infusion of colour a crest on his shoulder – that of a great silver sword crossed with a bolt of white lightning that crackled from dark clouds as if sent down by the gods themselves. The Silver Sword certainly had grand ideas about himself if he was arrogant enough to have such a crest.

There was something different about this boy. His mind wasn't as apathetic as the other soldiers, but Jean could still sense an ingrained darkness with the Silver Sword's fingerprints all over it. Mixed with this was the sour sensation of fear, and from past experience she knew that fear could drive people to do terrible things. Plus, there was the minor point that he was standing on the edge of the watchtower, beneath which was only sheer wall and heavy closed door. There was no grappling hook in sight.

She backed up a few steps, spine bumping against the opposite low wall of the booth. Damn it, but the watchtower was small. She'd never really noticed how small before, but now –

"You're the dame who's been causin' all the problems with the grapplers? Ain't you the pretty one?" the boy continued, not taking his eyes off her. "The name's Toad. Lieutenant Toad. What's yours?"

Jean swallowed, but said nothing. A mixture of 'won't' and 'can't' mingled in her breast, made patent only by her harsh breathing. Her brain was still too befuddled by the Underling's sudden death to think clearly, and the idea of using her telekinesis to tip this unwelcome guest from his perch went right out of her head.

Lieutenant Toad frowned and pursed his lips. "Not a big talker, eh? Neither am I, _hak-chuu-lee_."

And with that, an extraordinarily long and prehensile tongue shot from his mouth to wrap gooily around Jean's waist. She jerked back, an involuntary action, until she realised just what was happening and yanked back with all her might. He was a _Changeling_. Of course. She was so _stupid!_

The odd looking boy smiled around his tongue, tightening his grip and reeling her in. From his mind Jean fleetingly gleaned an image of herself hurtling off the wall top, and she half summoned her own powers before realising that to use them on him was essentially to use them upon herself too, since his grasp on her was so strong.

Grabbing the only thing she could – which just happened to be the opposite wall – Jean hung on for dear life. In return, Lieutenant Toad braced his feet on his perch and leaned back, throwing his whole body weight into getting rid of the girl who'd been causing their troops so much hassle. He'd long since realised that by attacking the temple they were attacking Changelings like themselves, but the fear instilled by the Silver Sword was so great now as to quash any reservations they may have had.

This deadly game of tug-o-war played out for several minutes, each party straining their muscles to defy the other. But Jean was already both mentally and physically weakened by the battle, and her grip began to slip. Toad felt it and pulled harder, intent on finishing her off and returning to the ground below where he wasn't such a good target.

Slowly, Jean's sweaty fingers slipped backwards, and the breathtaking pressure around her middle became excruciating. If she didn't die from being smashed into the ground by that tongue, then she would definitely be crushed by it. Her waist felt like it was about to be snapped in two, and no matter what she did she just couldn't seem to gain her breath. Her lungs constricted; strange black dots began to dance at the edges of her vision….

Abruptly, the unbearable force eased. Jean found herself dropping unexpectedly to the floor of the tower in an untidy heap. Sweet air flooded into her lungs. She drank deeply of it, vowing never to take it for granted again, before opening her eyes once more. The dots returned, but dispersed quickly, leaving her looking at a most curious sight.

Toad gurgled as the woman held him aloft by his shoulders like he were as light as one of Underling Frederick's sponge cakes. Her hands weren't clasped especially tightly, and he had the unnerving sensation that at any minute he might fall, the fear of which had forced him to retract his tongue so quickly. The woman's long white hair billowed in the night breeze, snaking across her face like a thousand tiny serpents. She looked hard at him, as if gauging whether to send him plummeting to his end or show a scrap of mercy and set him down somewhere safe.

Jean blinked. In some far corner of her mind she supposed she should've been surprised that Ororo could fly. The secret that few had known or been told was finally coming to light, and the Temple Mother was showing her true colours in an effort to protect her temple and 'children'. A small glow of hope sparked in her chest – perhaps things weren't so bleak after all.

Ororo leaned close to Toad, bringing her face to within an inch of his own. "Can you jump?" she asked.

Toad gulped. Was she crazy? How else did she think he'd gotten up here without a grappling hook? Why else was he called _Toad_? But instead of giving voice to them he simply nodded dumbly.

Ororo mirrored the nod, blue eyes sage yet profoundly sad. "Then jump." She tossed him into the air.

Toad screamed. As good as his agility was, without some kind of surface to push against he was as good as dead falling from such a height. His eyelids pulled back and his lips stretched into a grimace of prize-winning ugliness as he hurtled towards the ground so far below, flailing his arms in a vain effort to halt or somehow slow his descent.

Jean scrambled to her feet and leaned over the edge of the watchtower, blood pounding through her skull, not quite sure if what she'd seen was actually real or n illusion cast by some heretofore unknown Changeling enemy.

No, there was the long-tongued boy, plummeting like a stone. Ororo really _had_ thrown him to his death. For a second the thought refused to take shape, refused to mesh with everything Jean had ever known and believed about the Temple Mother, but the sound of his scream cemented its existence.

She looked up at where Ororo she floated casually, for all the world a spirit or errant wil-o'-the-wisp. Her face was impassive, not even watching the youth she'd so casually cast aside. Instead, she was staring into the trees, gaze flipping to and fro – searching for something. Jean goggled at the ruthlessness she'd never seen before.

"Mother!" she cried.

She needn't have worried. Ororo was intent on protecting the temple, but she was far above punishing when there was a way around it. Fear was an excellent deterrent for attackers, and Toad certainly experienced a healthy dose as his face sped toward the muddy ground, churned by the feet of his own battalion. At that moment he didn't care about the Silver Sword any more. He didn't care about winning, or the fight at hand. All that concerned him was saving his own skin and keeping it safe – something that was rapidly slipping through his fingers like. He muttered a prayer to any god who cared to listen and he hadn't pissed off, then waited for the inevitable splatter.

Then an unnaturally strong gust of wind hit him. Toad found himself abruptly plucked from his freefall, to float harmlessly until the drop was small enough for him to complete without splurging himself. The odd wind evaporated as quickly as it had come, and Toad glanced up to see the Temple Mother with one hand outstretched. She retracted the hand and spared him a precursory nod before levitating over to the watchtower, neatly avoiding any and all weapons thrown her way with the greatest of ease. The nod's meaning wasn't lost on Toad – _Go now, and you'll remain unharmed. Stay and risk the consequences._

He was in no hurry to discover exactly what those 'consequences' were. Hurriedly, he scuttled up and away through the trees to the relative safety of their overhanging branches. He didn't stop until the sounds of battle could be mistaken for a memory, and not a reality.

Ororo flew gracefully to alight upon the roof of the watchtower. Jean leaned out, craning her neck to see what she was up to, but was forced to duck back as a javelin sheared past. It cropped a few red hairs with its nearness. Her attention returned to the fight, and with a burst of energy built on rage and frustration, she savagely threw off all the grappling hooks and enemy soldiers within telekinetic distance. The explosion of angry power reduced her to gasping for breath and clutching her chest. Her knuckles blanched as they curled around the edge of the wall, but she risked another look upwards.

Ororo stood silently upon the slates, eyes closed and head bowed as if in prayer. Her fists were bunched at her sides, and despite being such an obvious and prominent target, no enemy weapons were even getting close to her. An increasing wind buffeted her body, whipping her hair into a mad frenzy of white strands that danced like wayward sprites on the night air. She tilted her face, throwing out her arms and allowing her hair to become a funnel of white, streaming heavenwards in the updraft.

Ororo's actions may have been very public, but her thoughts were her own, kept even from Jean. They were thoughts that fuelled her deistic powers and channelled them through her mortal form.

It wasn't right. So much pain and suffering. So many young ones forced to see what none should ever have to witness, and do what nobody should ever be forced to do. So much death. So much loss – of life and freedom of will to the Silver Sword's hateful sorcery. Ororo balked against what she'd seen in the few minutes since coming outside and looking upon the battle between his 'side' and theirs. Set next to each other the Silvites and temple-folk were so alike that a stranger wouldn't have been able to tell them apart. And yet they were being forced into a battle of impossible odds, to fight until their last breath and, provided they survived, carry the emotional scars of what they'd seen until the end of their days. Their innocence was being stripped away, and it made her seethe inside that one man, no matter how powerful, was so arrogant and paranoid as to do such a thing to his own subjects as well as his 'enemies'! Her blood boiled with a rage she hadn't felt in many centuries, and her hands stretched out to catch and cup the flickering energy she was calling.

It had been a long time since she'd invoked her powers. The stipulations of her exile were that she could only use them with specific permission of Ajudan. Well, now she had that permission, and his blessing to go with it. All was in place, but having spent so much time with the mortal-born Ororo had learned self-doubt, and now it plagued her. Would this be enough? Could she do it? Was she still capable enough?

She cupped the mass of glowing white raw power, shot through with lattices of white, silver and deep purple. It crackled in her palm, throwing out heat that would have evaporated raindrops before they hit the ground, hovering scant inches above her skin yet doing her no harm. Slowly, she drew strands of it from the air around her. The atmosphere was alive with it, for those who knew how to recognise it. It had many names, but remained the same physical _thing _no matter the language – Xing Xing Jing, Gaia's Blood, Ki, elemental energy, planetary life-force, chi. It was the magical fabric of the very universe, the _essence _of life. Every living thing in the world gave it out, and those that died gave theirs back to be recycled into the central core from which all existence once sprang. Ororo snared it as it drifted toward her, drawn by her vehemence and silent appeal. She didn't order or control it, but worked in partnership with it, as had been the way since the dawn of time. She asked, and it complied. She requested, and it considered her request before submitting to her will. Slowly her unease began to melt away, replaced instead by a confidence that could never, and _would _never be experienced by a mere mortal. It was meant for a true deity. A god…. or a goddess.

Ororo's eyes slid open.

At that moment another tremor wracked the ancient stones of the temple, throwing Jean – already off-balance as she teetered on tiptoe trying to see – from her feet. The redhead landed heavily, and fell against Ray's corpse. His dead flesh was dank through his robes and smelled of death. She squeaked and shuffled away on her behind in the manner of a startled squirrel, drawing her knees up to her chest and biting her lip to keep from crying out like a pitiful child instead of an acolyte.

Ororo didn't look down, but her eyes became hard. A whitish film crept across them. Soon there was no distinguishing the iris from the rest of the eye, and her pupils vanished completely beneath the milky layer. Her brow knitted, as she concentrated on the mass of sparkling energy building in her hand. It grew and grew, until the palm beneath vanished from sight, and most of her arm crackled with untapped, raw power.

Only then did she break from her reverie. With a startling shriek, she pointed her hand into the sky and the gathered energy shot forth as a huge bolt of white, streaking through the clouds and into the night sky beyond. For several long seconds it emptied from her body, flowing from her fingertips and flying aloft like some potent bird of prey with its hood removed.

When the supply appeared to be dwindling she clenched her fist and cut off its escape route. Rising into the air, the Temple Mother shouted, her words flying on the wind and reaching the ears of anyone and everyone in the vicinity, and inspiring a mixture of terror and hope amongst them.

"Hear me, invaders, for I stand before you now not only as Mother of this temple, but as a much higher authority. You will listen to me, or you _will _perish. Leave this place. Turn around and go back to where you came from. Your lord is not worth death." She held out her arms, flexing her fingers experimentally. Something like blue electricity glimmered between each of them. "Let this be a warning to all. Choose to fight the Silver Sword's control. Escape this temple. Or face me."

She held out one hand, and a bolt of energy flew from the centre of her palm to hit a single tree in the forest below, cleaving it in two and leaving it smoking. A figure tumbled from the branches. Jean sensed incredible potential power linked intrinsically to the scorched earth he landed upon, and caught the fleeting mental broadcast: _What the f - _

The youth struck the floor in a flurry of decaying leaves, twigs, insects and soil. He thrashed about for a few seconds before realising that he was safe – relatively – on the ground and unharmed. A quick glance into the sky, however, informed him that if he didn't play his cards right then this state of affairs was only a temporary one.

Ororo glared down at him, and he shrank back from her expression even at this distance.

"You have free will. Will you abandon this course of action and leave here peacefully?"

He cast about for some kind of ally, but all he saw were the expressionless faces of his own troops, awaiting the next orders he didn't have. Damn it, where was that idiot Toad when you needed him?

"Your companion is gone," Ororo told him, as if reading his thoughts. "He fled not long ago. There was no shame to his decision, and I strongly suggest you make the same, unless you wish to face me. But be warned that if you do, you _will _lose and forfeit more than just your pride."

Lance blinked and frowned foolhardily. "Why? You're just a Changeling like me, and I'm pretty powerful. I'll bet I could take you, lady."

Somehow, notwithstanding the distance between them the wind carried his words to Ororo, and she laughed bitterly. "You mistake me, young sir. I am not a Changeling. I am something far different, and far more fearsome. I…" she paused uncertainly, but took a deep, strengthening breath and continued, "…. am a goddess."

Lance snorted. "Pish posh. So you're a go - " His eyes widened as what she'd said sank in. A goddess? But how… where did she… why was she…? _Aw crap_.

"But if you _truly _desire to face me..." Ororo gave a minimal shrug of her shoulders, opened her clenched fist and allowed another bolt of raw energy to streak through the air and incinerate a hole in the ground near his boots. Flakes of ash settled on Lance's face. He scrambled hastily to his feet.

However, instead of instantly running away like Toad, Lance showed a modicum more loyalty – albeit slightly warped by the person it was owed to – and stood firm, glaring hotly at the floating woman who claimed to be a goddess.

He didn't truly believe it, since he'd already borne witness to several Changelings with similar abilities on the temple walls. A few tremors in quick succession had taken care of them, and he was sure something of a similar nature would deal with the Temple Mother just as easily.

Poor Lance.

_Problem is_, he thought, _if she's in the air like that, any ground attacks I try will have no effect. Can't shake up what I can't touch_. His eyes flitted from Ororo to the watchtower she hovered by, and the length of wall stretching away on either side of it. Several Changelings were still furiously defending from there, sending various attacks over the battlements. Their feet were all firmly planted on the floor.

For an instant neither Jean nor Ororo understood what was going on. The youth's eyes suddenly rolled back into his head, leaving only the whites on show. Unlike the milky film covering Ororo's eyes, this was a gruesome spectacle, made worse by the trembling that suddenly wracked his body. He seemed to be having some kind of fit, and Ororo wondered whether she'd overdone it a bit and driven him over the edge with fear.

That is, until the temple began to shake.

A deep rumbling echoed up from the ground, lower and more menacing than any tremor previously sent their way. This was a concentrated attack of the boy's powers, and it shot through the foundations of the magnificent buildings, sending them juddering and shaking like nothing ever before. It was swift and brutal and nobody was ready for it. Those on the battlements clung on desperately, but a few were so absorbed in their activities as to be caught unawares. They stumbled and toppled over the edge of, plummeting and leaving their posts unmanned. Screams rent the air, as dozens of people, some Changelings and some not, fell.

Jean reached out with her telekinesis, grabbing a few of them and either steadying their fall or levitating them back up. But she was only one person and she'd been exhausted by the fight already – there was no possible way she could catch them all. There were simply too many. Her eyebrows shot up in despair, and she gripped the side of the watchtower with the effort of saving those she could.

Ororo's body dipped. She sped downwards with incredible speed, becoming little more than a pinkish blur as she darted to and fro, catching the falling bodies and replacing them on the battlements. The walls were so tall that the descent took several seconds – more than enough time for her to make it to them and use her deistic powers to rescue them.

Lance's eyes returned to normal, and though breathless he looked up at what she was doing. A smirk appeared on his face. She was taking the bait like he'd hoped, and he pointed for the benefit of his troops.

"Fire! Now! Shoot her now!"

A volley of missiles sliced through the air towards the preoccupied Temple Mother.

Jean saw him point, saw the volley that followed, and she froze, some inexorable force disallowing her body the right to move as these projectiles flew towards her mentor – the woman who'd taken her in when she had nowhere else to go. The person who'd placed such trust in her. The one individual who'd always believed in her.

"_Ororo, look out_!" The scream ripped itself from her lungs of its own accord.

Too late. Grabbing the last fallers close to the ground, Ororo and her precious cargo were suddenly lost amongst a flurry of spears, javelins and other assorted weaponry.

Jean's body broke from its trance, and she flew to the side of the watchtower in dismay. "Ororo…" she whispered.

The rescued temple folk also peered over. Murmurs sped through them, as they wondered whether they'd just seen what they thought they'd seen. Some started to wail. Others contemplated what was to become of them if the Silver Sword's forces could kill someone so powerful as Ororo the White. One or two just stood there dumbly, as though in shock from terrible wounds nobody could see.

Jean was one of these. She stared, eyes fixed on the point where she'd seen Ororo last. It had been quite near to the ground, since the person she'd been rescuing had had more time to fall than the others. Low mist hung about the area, obscuring all from view and creating a miasma of half-seen images and forestry. When nothing emerged from it, hot tears began to prick the backs of Jean's eyes.

_She… she couldn't. Not Ororo. She's too powerful, too … too … She's got to be all right! _

Jean couldn't put it into words. She never would. She would try sometimes, but they would dry up in her throat, so full of _meaning _they lost out on actual _sound_. Ororo was like a mother to her – like everybody's mother, but Jean's most of all. Ororo was the beacon she'd adopted when her family was so suddenly and so brutally taken out of her life – something to fill that particular void. She wasn't just important to Jean, she was _needed, _the same way a field of crops needs rain, or a fishing boat needs blue skies.

_She can't be dead, she just can't. Too many people need her. I… I need her. _"Ororo!"

Suddenly the mists parted, and a familiar figure floated effortlessly upward. She alighted on the wall top and deposited a young human girl there – not a Changeling, but someone who had been more than willing to offer her services with a bow and arrow to defend her home. They were both miraculously unharmed.

Ororo looked down on the Silver Army. Jean had never seen her angry before, but now her face was positively thunderous. It was a fearsome, but somehow bewitching sight.

"So," she boomed in like the sonorous rumble of a storm, "little Changeling. You choose the path of malice and hatred. I gave you the chance to leave in peace and you threw it back in my face, endangering the lives of innocents for your own gain. Now, you shall reap the consequences of your actions. Flee while you can, mortal, for if my wrath finds you it shall not be lenient." With that, she rose high into the air, palms splayed and arms raised to the heavens.

The wind became a howling gale in the space of a few seconds, and everyone on the battlements was forced to crouch in order not to be blown off. Raw power flickered around Ororo's hands, snaking down to encapsulate her body with faint blue tendrils of light.

Lance gulped. He took a step backwards. It wouldn't be accurate to say that doubt began to surface in his mind. It had already floated to the surface like a dead body in a pond, and was now decomposing pungently in the sun. There was no way that woman could've survived having so many missiles aimed at her. Under The Silver Sword's mind control, each of his troops were excellent shots. It was _impossible _for her to have dodged and avoided each and every one of them simultaneously.

Lance took one look at the natural energy flowing around her, and suddenly believed what she'd said. The realisation looked up at him with a tired sigh, as if to say _So you've finally decided to notice me? Well, you're about thirty seconds and one earthquake too late, buddy. _

She _was_ a goddess – though how, and why she was here was still a mystery. Gods were supposed to stay in the Pantheon, swirling about somewhere with sprits and doing godly things. They weren't supposed to slum it here on the ground. But the realisation kicked him squarely in the nuts and told him to bloody well stop thinking and start running. The only thing that mattered right now was the power Ororo wielded, and the fact that he'd driven her to use it through his own stupidity and unwillingness to believe.

He bolted for the safety of the trees. The rest of the battalion would keep going, he knew. They had no choice in the matter, and would fight to the end without a word of complaint. It was how the spell worked – but he was free enough of it to escape this place whilst he still could. He hoped.

Some part of his brain, the compassionate part he'd tried to bury long ago, popped up next to the realisation and reminded him that what he was doing was cowardly and wrong. It sounded irritatingly like his mother, but the other figment overruled it, telling him that even if he stayed and attempted to rescue his company, they'd most likely turn on him and dash him to dust for being a traitor to their cause. Another unsavoury part of The Silver Sword's spell.

So he ran on, alternatively shrieking and rationalizing his fleeing to himself, until he was no more than a blip speeding through the trees and leaving a path of broken undergrowth in his wake.

The dark clouds above Ororo began to swirl, as the abandoned troops set themselves to their default mode and once more attacked the temple wall and gates, throwing grappling hook upwards and battering on the doors with their fists and weapons. Several of them began hacking at a tree to use as a makeshift battering ram. A full frontal assault had already proved useless, but the mind control spell wasn't known for engendering good imaginations in its victims.

The beam of light struck Ororo squarely on her face, illuminating her features and making her appear even more otherworldly. She gave a small, fierce smile.

The temple folk had returned to the task of protecting their home against the invaders, and so could only spare her fleeting glances. They were as much in the dark about what she was doing as anyone else.

In a sparkling display of deistic might, Ororo threw her head back and screamed louder than an Arctic wind. "Power of Nature, come to my aid! Winds, rain, lightning, help me drive back these invaders who threaten my children! Use me as your vessel; channel your strength into our battle through my hands. I beg of you, _come to my aid_!"

Her own power, that which some people call 'soul' or 'spirit', which she'd released into the sky earlier, came racing back to her with astronomical speed. It acted as a guide for the power of Nature itself. Nature had once been Ororo's closest companion, nuzzling against her and watching the world through her eyes. They weren't as intimate as they had once been, but there was still a connection between this frail mortal form and that raw force.

It consumed her body utterly, drawing its strength inward and plunging through her, excess tingling around her fingertips. Ororo gasped at the sudden influx, feeling it course along and through her veins, infusing her with the same kind of great power she'd relinquished so long ago in the name of love. Now it returned, if only for a short time, and filled her completely with its immutable potency, long bound since the beginning of all and everything.

For the first time in a millennia, Ororo felt whole again.

Jean sensed the link between Ororo and the powers of Nature once more, and sent an impulsive mental message out, not knowing whether she'd hear it or not.

She did, of course.

_Ororo, they're trapped within their own minds. I've sensed it coming off them in waves. They don't want to live like this any more, but the spell is too powerful for them to break out. They **want** death. It's their freedom won back again._

Bolts of lightning fizzled from palm to palm as Ororo gazed down at her charges, fighting so valiantly against enemies that desperately wanted to stop their own fighting. This was a battle that never should have happened – something that neither side wanted, but had been compelled into against their will.

And now it was time to end it.

The goddess-come-Temple Mother flew lower, cupping her hands together before her breast. A pool of liquid energy filled them, oozing up the rim of her fingers and dripping down the sides. It represented all the powers flowing through her, and brimmed with their intensity. The strength of the storm was her will, and blazing sunlight her might; ice was her white-eyed stare, and driving rains her hair. She was one with them, merged with them, bending them to her needs and musts.

"Be still, my children. You've fought well, but now it's my turn. Now it's time to finish this once and for all."

And with a yell, she freed all the power inside her, letting it burst from her skin in a breathtaking display of iridescence and tortured sweetness. Her body contorted, throwing out beams of pure energy in the form of lightning ripping from her fingers. A strong gale whipped up the air, and buffeted the oncoming attackers back from the walls in all directions. Rain lashed their faces, snow and ice numbed their hands until they couldn't grip the ropes attached to their grappling hooks any longer and plunged to their combined doom and liberation in death below.

In a few seconds Ororo had cut a swathe through the approaching hordes, and the striving Changelings and other folk gave a cheer at this small victory.

But the battle wasn't won yet, and was not over by a long shot. With their Temple Mother blazing goddess glory overhead, and a new sense of hope in their hearts, the inhabitants of The Temple of The Way renewed their efforts with added vigour.

The battle began afresh.

* * *

Sabertooth bellowed as Rogue delivered him another crushing blow to the ribs. He'd taken advantage of her being off-balance after one of the tremors, and now held her by her throat, ready to bite and tear out her life-vein.

A tactical error from him left her legs free. She kicked with all her might, grim satisfaction registering on her face at the sound of cracking ribs. If she was lucky, they would rive up into his lungs, or some other vital organ. If she was unlucky, his physiology had changed enough that a few bits of broken bone wouldn't prove a problem for him.

Sabertooth doubled over in reactive pain. Success! Rogue twisted one arm free. Her sword had been knocked across the room, but a small dagger was clutched in her fist, and she raised it to plunge into him in that brief vulnerable second.

However, not for nothing had Sabertooth become famed as one of the most deadly assassins ever known. With a grace incongruous to his wide bulk, he snapped a hand up and twisted the dagger from her fingers, squeezing the other practically into a fist. It landed with an ineffective clatter at his feet. Deprived of air, and with the vertebrae in her neck crunching, Rogue clawed desperately at her throat, but to no avail. It was a coin toss whether she died from a snapped neck or strangulation.

"Yaaaaaaaaaaah!"

With a weak cry, Kurt suddenly appeared atop Sabertooth's back in a puff of sulphurous smoke. He leaned forward and somehow got a hold of the man-creature's snout from behind, inserting his fingers and yanking back with his feet braced just below Sabertooth's shoulders. Sabertooth's head was jerked upwards, though not enough to separate the base of his skull from his spine. His thick neck muscles bunched as he growled and twisted, trying to bite Kurt's fingers. Kurt kept them out of reach, hooked in his nostrils, and kept pulling, hoping to distract the behemoth enough that his grasp on Rogue would falter.

Rogue opened one eye and whispered feebly, "Elf… no…"

Tabby looked on in horror, Raven's decapitated head still in her hands where Kurt had hastily pushed it before going to his friend's aid. She couldn't throw an attack, since that risked hurting Kurt – and Rogue, but it was Kurt she was worried about – but she knew that she wanted – needed – to help them somehow. But how? She felt powerless, and desperately glanced about the room for inspiration.

Kitty was still battling against Hariq; Jubilee slumped in a semi-conscious heap behind her. The oriental girl looked in a bad way, and despite all their previous differences, Tabby found herself also wishing to help her too. She was torn between the two fights, and looked back and forth with her mouth open, wondering what to do.

Tabby was not the bravest person. She wasn't the fastest, or the strongest, or even the wiliest – though she'd happily lie to you to make you thin otherwise. Outside her Changeling abilities, her only talent seemed to be finding trouble, with a minor in getting herself into it. Getting out usually required outside help, often of the Initiate variety.

But here, now, there _were_ no Initiates. There was no Temple Mother, no Acolyte, nobody higher up the pecking order to tell her what to do. The overconfidence that had allowed her to make her melodramatic entrance had evaporated, leaving her bewildered, as helpless to make her own choices as she'd been when she first arrived at the Temple years before.

With a burst of strength, Sabertooth shoved his head forward, ripping his nostrils open. Kurt yelped and toppled over his head, swinging round to dangle loosely from his mammoth neck. He brought one foot up and kicked Sabertooth in the face in a show of acrobatics only he could've mastered. Sabertooth's nose finished its journey into the Land of Pulp, sending his head jerking sideways. Kurt then teleported away as fast as he could, re-emerging on the ceiling above.

"Tabby, now!" he shouted.

Tabby looked questioningly at him, and then at Sabertooth. He was doubled over, snorting and spitting blood. He also had his back to her – his _exposed _back.

Wordlessly, Tabby transferred her macabre package to the crook of one arm and cupped the other hand to form a small glowing ball of energy. It exploded against Saberooth's back. He was catapulted quite spectacularly forward, Rogue flying from his hands to twirl and land in a clumsy crouch some distance away. She dropped to one knee, gasping.

With a terse nod to Kurt, Rogue backed up, scanning the debris-littered floor for either of her discarded weapons. Sabertooth was half-covered by wreckage, but she knew from past experience that this meant nothing. Hand to hand hadn't worked, but he was still flesh and blood. He could still be cut. She needed her blades if she was to stand any chance against him again.

In a burst of imploding light, Kurt appeared beside her. Her sword was in his hands, and his injured tail was wrapped around the handle of her dagger. He'd obviously scooped it up off the floor when dangling round Sabertooth's neck, and spotted the sword from his vantage point on the ceiling. He handed them to her without a word, and Rogue noted how taunt his face was; drawn tight with barely repressed pain.

She frowned. "Get back to where it's safe, Elf. You're in no condition to fight."

"Neither are you."

It was true; Rogue was a mess. Her fight with Sabertooth had reduced her to a sorry mess of tattered clothing, blood and dirt smattered skin. Her eyes still blazed, however, and she glared hotly at the impudent halfling.

Kurt glared right back at her. "And I want a piece of him too. He has to pay for what he's done." With that, he launched himself forth to renew his earlier assault.

But where he was swift, Rogue was swifter. Her training under Logan made itself known as she caught him deftly by one ankle. Kurt stumbled and almost crashed into the floor. He probably would've done, had it not been for his amazingly agility. Instead, he rounded angrily on Rogue, mouth open in readiness of an angry shout.

Rogue hit him on the temple with the butt of her sword. He slumped into her waiting arms. "Sorry, Elf, but it's for your own good."

An agonised howl caught her attention, and she whirled round just in time to see Kitty stumble backwards clutching her shoulder. Blood oozed from between her fingers, and her face was taut as she tried to fend off another attack from Hariq. She was clearly coming off the worse in their fight. She couldn't hold out much longer, and if she fell then Jubilee would soon follow.

Rogue made a snap decision. She shovelled Kurt onto her shoulder, bounded across to Tabby, and dumped him unceremoniously at her feet.

"Watch him. See that he don't get hurt, else there'll be trouble, y'hear?"

Tabby indignantly watched her go. Like she'd let Kurt get hurt any more? Despite what he and others thought about her, Tabby had grown rather fond of him. His warmth and friendliness was endearing, more than any boy she'd ever met before. Her life before The Temple of The Way had been a harsh one, filled with pain and resentment, so she valued companionship more than most people, more often than not mistaking it for romantic affection. But with Kurt ... she genuinely liked him, and had the situation been different he may have returned her attempts at affection.

Sighing, she looked down at him. It was common knowledge about the feelings he nursed for that wench, Kitty – common to everyone but her, that was. Tabby had never even stood a chance with him. She knew that. Nevertheless, she felt more strongly about this strange, friendly little Germanic halfling than she'd ever felt about any of her other crushes. He was different. Perhaps this strange feeling in her heart was some kind of love. Maybe. _Unrequited_ love, of course. If not, then it was the closest she'd ever come to it in her ultimately short life.

* * *

Kitty was failing fast. Hurt in a dozen different places, the odd force that had guided her movements before was fading, and without it she was no match for the adept and expertly trained Hariq. He cut and slashed with practised ease, forcing her backwards until she was almost standing on top of Jubilee. Victory shone brightly in his eyes, and he barrelled forward for the final blow.

There, her throat was exposed! He raised his blade to cut it open.

"Hraaaaaaaa!"

Kitty's head jerked up, and she saw shock ricochet across Hariq's face. His sword jangled noisily to the floor, and his head tilted to look at the sword point jutting from his chest. Twisted metal serrated around it where the blade had punched through his armour like butter, and by twisting his torso a little he could look into the eyes of his killer.

A faint smile – more of a smirk, really – graced the corners of his mouth where blood was already beginning to dribble.

"You ..." He coughed, and turned his face heavenwards. "Alkeith," he called in a last prayer to the God of Assassins, "accept me into your embrace …" His eyes dimmed and he slumped forward to slide off the sword, crumpling to the floor in a heap.

Rogue stepped over him like he wasn't even there. "Y'aright, Shrimp?"

Kitty simply stared. Then she swallowed. "Yeah, I'm fine. But Jubilee's in a pretty bad way."

Rogue nodded grimly. "We gotta finish up here quick, otherwise she won't make it."

As if to emphasise this, Jubilee chose that moment to emit a low groan, and rubbed her head with one hand. She was still conscious, but barely, and needed help just to stand. The bottom of her robe was soaked dark red, and she swayed on her feet. Kitty gripped her elbow to steady her.

A muffled roar sounded from across the room, and all three of them looked round to see an enraged Sabertooth, fur still smoking, bearing down on Tabby. The blonde girl was knelt on the floor, hugging Kurt protectively to her chest and brandishing a ball of her power in one hand. Raven's head was in Kurt's lap, and somehow his hands were now curled possessively around it.

"Yept!" Rogue swore.

Tabby threw her energy ball, but Sabertooth avoided it and smacked the side of her face. Tabby flew backwards, dragging Kurt with her. When she looked up she spat out a bloody tooth, and her lip was split.

The energy ball exploded upon hitting the wooden door to one of the numerous pantries lining the opposite wall. Several bags of stored foodstuffs tumbled out amongst the wreckage.

Hurriedly, Tabby created another, but Sabertooth was too close. He grabbed her wrist and snapped the bone neatly in two, leaving blood from his own missing finger. Her energy dissipated harmlessly.

Tabby screamed.

Rogue dashed across. Sabertooth rounded on her, but she thundered straight into his chest with her shoulder, knocking him back a pace. He swiped at her, claws slick with different bloods, but already she was gone and attacking from another side. Her blade slashed, but he dodged and grasped her arm, trying to break the bone like he had Tabby's – or else just rip her arm right off. With a grunt she transferred her sword to her left hand and jabbed it into the only place she could – his side. Sabertooth roared, hoisting her aloft and _throwing _her. She hit the wall with a dull thud and slithered down it in a daze.

Tabby looked on helplessly. So did Kitty and Jubilee. All three girls wanted to help, but none knew exactly how. Jubilee was too weak to be of any use, and Kitty had no offensive attack to speak of at this range. The only person left was Tabby, and she was almost blacking out from her broken wrist whilst trying to support Kurt's weight with her other hand.

Sabertooth crossed the room, casually wrenching Rogue's sword out and flinging it aside like it was nothing. He was wounded in several places, and blood liberally matted his coat and clothes, but he paid none of it any heed. He had eyes only for Rogue, who was shaking her head and trying to get to her feet without falling over.

Tabby looked around, dark spots at the edges of her vision. She blinked hard, trying to clear them. As she did so, something caught her eye – or rather some_things_. To be precise, her fretful gaze had fallen upon the foodstuffs that had fallen from the pantry. One of the sacks had split open, spilling a powdery white substance all over the floor.

Flour.

Slowly, a half-forgotten memory surfaced – one that might prove the crux of who was victorious this night.

Once, when she'd been on kitchen-duty, she remembered having a conversation with one of the Initiates. He wasn't much older than her – probably just a few winters more – and she'd been stuck on him at the time despite only being a lowly Underling and relatively new to the temple. She'd followed him around, even to the extent of _volunteering_ herself to work in the kitchens when he was there, and listening, enrapt, to everything he had to say. He'd been one of Initiate McCoy's pupils when still an Underling, and had designs on becoming a scholar himself some day, so he'd had plenty to speak of.

It was during one of these 'conversations' where he talked and she listened that he'd mentioned something about the explosive properties of certain common substances. He'd cited flour as one of them. Apparently, if ignited, it was as volatile as the gunpowder King Windergard's army used in their canons.

The germ of an idea turned over in Tabby's mind. Laying Kurt's head tenderly on the floor, she got to her feet and scuttled across the room, keeping low so nobody noticed her. She was sneaking by, but she wasn't being especially sneaky about it.

Rogue gave an 'oomph' as she was swatted aside again, and hit the floor with her cheek still stinging. Her mouth tasted strongly of blood. Before she could do anything she felt an inhumanly large hand grasp the back of her cloak to winch her up again. Sabertooth snarled in her face, so close that flecks of spit bridged the gap between them and she smelled the stench of raw meat on his breath. A feral light blazed in his eyes, and Rogue felt herself go cold. There wasn't even a hint of compassion there; only a wantonness and lust for blood. Emilios was more beast than human now – in mind as well as in body – and quite, quite mad.

She kicked out on instinct, driving one foot against his ribcage and one deep into his groin. There was no satisfying crack, or any loosening of his grip, but he let out a howl of pure outrage and drew back a claw to rip out her throat.

A bobbing blonde head appeared beside them. Using Sabertooth's focus on his prey as cover, Tabby had slipped past and now awkwardly pushed Rogue's sword back into her hand. Rogue needed no further bidding and willingly thrust it as best she could into Sabertooth's midriff. It pierced easily, and he yowled so loudly it deafened the room. Yet because of the angle he held her, Rogue's strike wasn't a death-wound, and though he stumbled backwards clutching his torn and bleeding midriff, the murderous beacon in his eyes showed no signs of dimming. Rather, it seemed to grow brighter, fuelled by pain and his own frenzied temper.

Yet there was one positive aspect of it. Rogue was free once more, and she dropped to the floor into a combat crouch, watching Sabertooth carefully. He'd pinned her several times now, and she'd been rescued more than she should've. She wouldn't let that happen again.

The two hunters eyed each other, each sizing the other's condition up and where best to strike next. It was like two players choosing the opening gambit in a game – a deadly game of cat and cat, and mouse and mouse.

Then they flew at each other. Steel flashed, claws struck, muscles tightened and wrenched and slackened again, and they stood once more facing off against each other. Resentment burned in both of their gazes, though the sources differed.

Rogue fought for herself and her own vengeance, but part of her also for her friends, and for Pietro and all the hurt his mentor had caused him.

Sabertooth fought for nothing but hate, and because he couldn't get at his true prize – Logan the Swift. Rogue was only the next best thing to him, but she was enough. More than enough. To slay her would be to slay an integral part of Logan – something he'd nurtured and guided, and maybe even loved in his own brutish way.

Kitty watched with bated breath. Jubilee still leaned on her shoulder, but now she had Kurt at her feet to worry about too. In between looking at Rogue and Sabertooth, her gaze also took in the two inert bodies of the man-beast's other assassins, who lay unconscious on the floor some distance away. There was no telling when these two would wake up, and when they did there was no way they could stand against _three_ trained killers at once. From what she'd learned from Rogue, these assassins weren't going to give up or relinquish the hunt. To do so would be to invite death on themselves by the council and become outcasts like her. They'd fight to the last, and that fact in itself was scarier than any sword-blade.

It was nearly as scary as the strange look in Rogue's eyes as she squared off against Sabertooth. There was something very cold in them now; a kind of single-minded concentration that could be called ruthlessness by a casual onlooker. It was as though nothing else in the room existed except herself, Sabertooth, and whatever immediate surroundings needed to be navigated.

The last time she looked like that she'd killed the Displacer Beast – and almost died in the process.

Abruptly, Kitty noticed something else, which she hadn't expected to see and couldn't fathom. Tabby was darting about the room with a sizable sack under her arm, spreading what appeared to be _flour_ everywhere she went. Tables, chairs and generally ruined kitchen accoutrements were covered in a fine dust of white, making it seem like a strange, soft snow had fallen indoors. Neither Rogue nor Sabertooth had noticed since they were too wrapped up in their struggle – which, Kitty got the feeling, was exactly what Tabby had been hoping for.

"There now," she said, scuttling over and fixing Kitty with a pained but concerted stare. "I need a distraction. Something that can keep him," she nodded at Sabertooth, "occupied long enough for you to get away through the wall."

"Through the wall?" Kitty repeated, nonplussed. "Why through the wall?"

"Because it leads to outside. The stables aren't very far from here, and you need horses to get away."

"Erm, in case you hadn't, like, noticed, we _can't_ get away. That guy's completely set on killing Rogue. He isn't about to let up any time soon." Kitty bit her lip, and added in a smaller voice, "Neither is she. I think."

"I know," Tabby replied. "_That's_ why I need a distraction – something to pull them out of … whatever freakiness it is they're in." She looked at Rogue and Sabertooth. "They're not even fighting properly anymore. It's like they're _dancing_." She sounded slightly disgusted. Then she shook herself. "Anyway, as long as you guys can get away, I can take care of the rest."

"You can?" Kitty was still unenlightened as to what Tabby was planning – especially how it concerned the flour spread around. Then she sighed. _Well, I guess anything's better than nothing. I sure don't have any better ideas. But a distraction…? _"The table!" When Tabby looked confused, she went on, "We can ram him with it – you and I. That should get him off Rogue's back long enough for us to get out. I can phase us all through the wall if she, like, carries Kurt. Reckon that'll be enough?"

Tabby's expression told of pensiveness. She looked at her snapped wrist, which was puffing and going a peculiar shade of purple. "A table? You couldn't think of something a little smaller?"

"You got any better ideas?"

"Not right this second, no. I'm not a fine details girl. I'm more into the big picture. We'll have to leave these two here though."

"Can't be helped. We'll be taking them with us, so we have to come back for them."

Suddenly Tabby looked profoundly sad. "Stupid girl," she murmured.

Kitty opened her mouth to protest, and then shut it again in dawning realisation. "You're not coming with us, are you?"

"It's the only way. My plan'll only work with me here to set it off. Besides, none of you could stay anyway. You're all needed outside of this dump."

"You're needed too!" Kitty was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to prevent this girl she didn't particularly like from doing something they might all regret.

Tabby looked away. "Not as much as I need to do this. Please understand; it's the only way. It's a sketchy plan, and kind of dumb, but it'll work better than anything safer. It'll put that hairy bozo out of commission for _good_."

Kitty looked at her pleadingly. Tabby stared right back.

Rogue yelped in pain and rage.

Kitty's face switched to an uncomfortably neutral expression and she nodded. Though her movements were small, her eyes told of a profound gratefulness that could never be put into words – as well as a rare breed of anger. They rose, making sure Jubilee and Kurt were safe for the time being, but as they crept off towards one of the overturned tables, Tabby caught Kitty's arm.

"I almost forgot," she whispered, delving into a pocket in her robe and fishing something out. Hastily she handed over a small phial of translucent blue glass. Liquid sloshed about inside, origin unknown. "Have them drink some of this when they wake up." Tabby commanded, indicating to Jubilee and Kurt. "You and Rogue too if you have to. Initiate Ashari had a feeling you'd need it."

Kitty frowned. "Teah? What- how did she- how did you-"

In spite of their grim situation, Tabby smirked. "Who d'ya think broke her leg today? She gave it to me then – said she had a funny feeling. Now come on. Move it, loser."

Rogue was faring worse than she would've liked, but fought on gamely, delivering cut for slash and thrust for gouge. Sabertooth's face was now nothing more than a mask of blood and fur that he intermittently spat out. Yet she was tiring, whilst he showed no signs of letting up. It seemed that this new body of his provided him with more stamina than she could ever dream of, as well as the extra strength and added bulk.

She was on the retreat backwards again when something large, four-legged, vertically-flat and yelling a war cry rammed into Sabertooth from the side, rendering him stunned on the floor with a … _table_ on top of him?

Someone grabbed her hand and roughly yanked her towards where the Elf and that little temple-punk, Jubilee, were. Rogue discerned a ponytail of brown hair and stumbled along bemusedly as Kitty dragged her over and away from her temporarily fallen enemy.

However, Rogue wasn't so confused as to let herself be led by anyone just yet – especially not from a fight. Especially not from _this _fight! She pulled her arm away and snarled, "Hold up there! What in all Seven Hells d'ya think you're _doing_, Shrimp?"

"Getting out of here," came the terse reply, in a tone quite unlike Kitty's usual one. Kitty's voice had three general stages, as far as Rogue could tell: bubbly, afraid, and gently concerned. Now she sounded snappy, like a dog with a too-short leash and a very tight collar. "Through that wall there."

Weird tone or not, Rogue growled. "And Sabertooth? Are you expecting him to just let us _walk away_? 'Cause if you are, then you're sorely mistaken. I appreciate the assist, but I gotta get back and finish him off - "

"_You can't! And you know it!_" Kitty spun around to face her. "Look, I know you might not like it, but you can't defeat him this way." Audaciously she poked a finger into Rogue's chest, receiving an enraged glare for her troubles. "The only chance we've got of escaping and getting to Belvedere like we're _supposed_ to is by letting Tabby … is by letting Tabitha handle this situation. She has a plan, and we're going to follow it whether you like it or _not_!" Blue eyes glared hotly, challenging to be opposed. Rogue was surprised to see that they were shiny with unshed tears.

Tears?

Something clicked inside her mind. She hadn't been an assassin this long without recognising those particular traits and their origins. "Fine," she conceded with very bad grace. This was her fight, damn it. _Hers_. Nobody else would get the same visceral satisfaction from - "We'll do it your way."

"Her way," Kitty corrected. "This is Tabby's thing, not mine. Her stupid, gods-be-damned plan, not mine!" She sniffed, turning away. "But it's the only plan we've got. We have to go through with this and let her do what she has to do, because… because it's the only way. There's no time for anything else. You can't beat him. He'll kill you, and then where will we be? Where will anyone be if this stupid prophecy is true? We need to get away. We _have _to - "

Rogue sensed again that something was awry with this 'plan' of Tabby's, and it served to bolster her suspicions as to the nature of it. Yet she held her tongue, instead barging past the snivelling Kitty with her old rudeness. "C'mon."

Wiping her eyes, Kitty went after her.

Rogue hefted Kurt onto her shoulder, wincing slightly as her injuries made themselves excruciatingly known under his weight. With a little help, Jubilee was lifted into a similar stance on Kitty, and the four swivelled to face the way by which they would make good their escape.

The wall itself was sooty from Tabby's explosions, and streaked where Rogue had hit it and slid down. Kitty reached out and touched Rogue's hand as they walked and staggered near, and Rogue felt a curious sense of nothingness flow through her body. It seemed to emanate out of her chest, enveloping her entire frame in the space of a few seconds. She felt cold, yet warm, with prickles racing up and down her skin – truly an odd sensation.

However, just as they were about to leave, Tabby reached out and unexpectedly tried to grab Rogue's arm. Her hand passed straight through of course, but both Rogue and Kitty turned to look at her anyway. From the corner of her eye, Rogue saw Sabertooth beginning to stir. He rubbed his head and shoved groggily at the table on his chest. It slid loudly across the floury flagstones. Urgency flared in her gut, along with a powerful urge to go and hit him while he was down – to finish it – and it was only with a supreme amount of effort that she stopped herself snarling.

Tabby followed her gaze and hurriedly gabbled out what she wanted to say, words tripping over each other in their haste to leave her mouth. "Hurry up as fast as you can when you get out there, and take care, all right? Don't screw this up. If you go and die after all this, I'll kill you myself. And when he wakes up, tell Kurt -" She bit her lip uncertainly. "Damn it. Tell him I really _do_ like him. Like, properly. I know I come on a little strong, but – uh, I … I just want him to know that."

At this, Rogue's gaze softened a little. Just a little. "We'll tell him," she promised, gaze sliding sideways once more.

Tabby smiled gratefully, and made as if to push them. "Now _get_!"

And with that, they got – bolted clean through the stonework and kept on running.

Tabby looked solidly at the spot they'd passed through, raising her hand a little and then thinking better of it. _Don't be maudlin,_ she told herself. _Got a job to do, and maudlin ain't in the description. _

A grunting roar from behind made her spin on her heel, a grim expression akin to Rogue's own plastered across her face. Sabertooth had recovered his wits enough to see his prey fleeing, and was now bounding across the room towards the wall they'd passed through. Tabby's lip curled in disgust, but she refrained from doing anything just yet. Instead, she slipped sideways, cradling her snapped wrist and leaving him to claw vainly at the blackened brickwork.

Sabertooth bayed his fury at being denied. His rage left deep gouges in the wall, until finally a more rational part of his mind perceived that this course of action wasn't working and that he would have to employ another if he was to catch up with the three Soul Bearers before they got too far away. Their blood was still fresh on him, and the scent drove him wild with the desire to spill more. To taste the sweet nectar of a life vein and feel bones crunching between his teeth. He'd waited so long, and he'd be _damned_ if he was going to let Rogue escape him now! Not when he was so _close_!

He spun round to make for the door, but was stopped in his tracks by a strange and incongruous sight.

That blonde wench – the one from the temple – was standing square in the doorway and glowering at him. Her stance told of a staunch refusal to move.

He growled, words far beyond him now. One foot edged forward threateningly, followed by its brother. He found himself leaning onto all fours like a true animal, but paid no heed to the humanity that was fast leaving him. All he could think about was The Rogue and her companions getting away whilst he was stuck here in this pustule of goodwill. Saliva dripped through his bared fangs, dribbling to floor with a wet 'splot'.

He'd tear each of their throats out one by one. First that furry elf – the one they all seemed so attached to. Good screams. He'd make them watch as he killed that one; make them all beg for mercy. Then that Changeling girl – tiny shape, easy to break. Snap, snap, snap. Break the bones one by one, until she was too much in agony to get away with her powers. And then finally the Rogue herself. She'd be the sweetest prize of all, especially after watching him kill the two she'd self-appointed herself to protect. Her guilt would make her delectable, as would her pain. Good pain. He _loved_ that kind of pain.

He crept forward a few more feet, but the blonde kid raised one hand. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

He lifted his lip, not understanding. If he had to kill her first then so be it. Muscles knotted to spring.

She pointed at the floor. "You're just getting more of it on you."

Sabertooth looked down, raising one clawed hand to sniff at it. Powder tickled his nostrils and he sneezed several times. What the-? The white stuff was _everywhere_! On his clothes, his fur, dusted onto the rapidly drying blood caked to his face. The rest of the room too. All of it was obscured with a fine spray. It got into his nose again and made him cough.

Hacking a mulch of it from his craw, he snarled. Cords of sinew rippled like molten steel beneath his pelt. This one carried no weapons. She had no sword or dagger, and his bestial psyche distinguished this as the mark of easy quarry, completely forgetting that other, more secret weapon she concealed.

He remembered, however, the moment she cupped her good palm upward and sparks of light appeared on it – dozen of them, each fizzing merrily. They threw back the ghostly glow, giving her face an unearthly quality in the half-shadows. "You're going to the Seventh Hell, you know."

Too late, Sabertooth recognised what she was up to, and scrabbled towards her to extinguish the energy. Too late, for it was already flying like a wingless bird to land in a patch of particularly thick flour.

For a second nothing happened, and both Sabertooth and Tabby could hear their hearts pounding in their ears, blood rushing around their veins in a mad race that nobody could win. Deafening silence reigned.

Then the room exploded.

The flour ignited with a vague 'whoosh' of orange and blue, which crossed the floor at breakneck speed, encompassing everything with fiery fingers. Tongues of flame reached for the ceiling, climbing higher and higher until finally the entire kitchen rocked and seemed to pulse out and in again like a giant lung. Fire blossomed out of the smashed windows to snake up the sides of the building, touching a copse of pepper trees and setting fire to them as well.

Everything burned. And that which couldn't slowly melted or turned black.

A terrible screaming filled the darkness being beaten back outside. It was pain, sadness, anger, frustration – a broken future and a tarnished past gone in the same moment. It wasn't unlike the famous song sung by swans when they take their dying breaths – maudlin, but magnetic. It was loss and pain, and beauty and goodness. It was smothering of evil, and the sacrifice of one for another. It was a shade of grey amongst the black and white of the world, set to remain for all time in the minds of those who heard to it.

And in an instant it was gone – swallowed up by the roar of hungry flames and collapsing beams, oven doors clanking off as their hinges melted; buried beneath the incinerating and oppressive atmosphere.

And all that was left was the ravenous flourish of fire.

* * *

_**To Be Continued …**_

* * *

**GERMANIC TRANSLATIONS:**

Meine Mutti. Sie ist tot. Er tötete sie. – My mother. She's dead. He killed her.

Ich verspreche. – I promise.


End file.
